


Blaze in the Dark

by effing-numpties (avenging_cap)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (simon didn't get to go to watford though), Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pitch Manor, Post Watford, Sharing Magic, Slow Burn, Songfic, The Mage sucks, except it's old timey letters, just a little bit in simon's head, texting fic, well im trying to make it slow burn only time will tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avenging_cap/pseuds/effing-numpties
Summary: Simon Snow is the Chosen One, but he doesn’t know anything about magic. Just after he became old enough to live on his own, the Mage found him and thrust him into the World of Mages. Now Simon has a magickal tutor and a fiancée, and he’s expected to save an entire world he just learned about. Oh, and there’s a war brewing with the Old Families, which puts him at odds with the formidable Basilton Pitch. Nothing he can’t handle, right?
Relationships: Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47





	1. House of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a songfic based on “Ivy” by Taylor Swift. I picture this song as a forbidden gay Victorian Era romance, so of course it snowballed into this (I can't promise it's 100% historically accurate, though). If you're as big of a T Swift fan as I am, you might be able to spot some references to other songs too! Thank you to [seducing-a-vampire](https://seducing-a-vampire.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on and being so excited about this idea! You are 100% the reason this fic exists.
> 
> Thank you _so_ much to my lovely betas [Ampithoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe), [werebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/pseuds/rhien), and [ IfSnowBazWereReal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfSnowBazWereReal/pseuds/IfSnowBazWereReal) for their help! 
> 
> [Listen along!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rKgxX8RUUgIBlz7wg7CfX?si=ToYpYa0yR8Cm9UIkzMvXrw) Each chapter is three tracks on the playlist! Check out [my tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/tagged/blaze-in-the-dark) for the track list as it's posted. 
> 
> I'll try to update once a week, but we'll see how it goes once my semester starts (and I have an actual fiction course that I have to write for - yikes!). I'm racing to get it all finished before then!
> 
> See the end notes for Victorian slang definitions.

I’ve taken to sitting in the Wellbeloves’ garden each morning in an attempt to get a grip on things. I hold my tea unsteadily as I lift up my left hand, staring at the smooth gold ring on my second finger. Every day I look at that ring and wonder how I managed to get here.

Before the Mage took me in, things were difficult to say the least. I was two years out of the orphanage, left to make it on my own in a boarding house in a bad part of town. On my nineteenth birthday, the Mage came knocking, and he told me all the things I thought were wrong with me really had to do with my magic.

“Magic? Now that could make a stuffed bird laugh,” I said.

“Simon, you are the Greatest Mage, the Chosen One,” the Mage said with certainty, his eyes almost teary. “I regret that it took so long to find you, but now that I have, I want to help you.”

Before I knew it, I had a magic tutor and a fiancée. The Mage thinks that marrying me into one of the Old Families will give us some power, some credibility in the war between the Old Families and the Mage.

“They need to believe you are the Chosen One. Once they see you, they will know,” he said.

Now I’ve moved in with my fiancée and her family, at least for the time being. The Mage says I would benefit from living among the World of Mages, but I think it’s a little more important that I get to know the woman I’m about to marry.

Agatha is beautiful. She has long, milky-golden hair and wears the most exquisite dresses. I think I could love Agatha, if I tried. Her parents love me (which might be a side effect of being the Chosen One), and I fit right in with them. We have nice conversations and picnics, and I think she already loves me.

I think about her diamond ring, sitting on her own second finger. An indication to all the world that she is engaged to be married. I’m still trying hard to understand why this marriage is so important to the World of Mages, but apparently, it could be the only thing to hold us all together in the end.

To hold our magic together. I’m still learning magic (and learning to _believe_ in it). It’s nothing like I thought it would be, no chanting around a fire or wearing robes. Magic is language, and I have always been shit at language. By extension, I’m also shit at magic.

In my defense, most Mages get to go to Watford, a magic school. The Mage just couldn’t find me in time for me to attend, so I have a tutor instead. Just one more way I feel like an outsider.

So most days, I sit out here and look at the beautiful flowers blooming in the garden and think about how I just don’t belong here. The fancy clothes I’ve been given by Dr. Wellbelove are too big for me, and I feel so stuffy and ridiculous in them. Agatha is sweet and soft, while I basically am a glowing ball of pure magic, pure chaos.

“Good morning, Simon,” Agatha says, sitting down beside me, her ring glinting in the sunlight.

The Mage picked out the engagement ring and my ring, too. It seems I lack a say in pretty much every aspect of my life. No choices, just prophecies to follow.

“Good morning.”

“Miss Bunce is here for your lesson. Perhaps afterward we can go for a picnic?” Her eyes are searching my face for some recognition, some excitement. I think food is the only way she knows how to reach me.

“That would be lovely,” I say with all the sincerity I can muster.

She nods, and I leave her to the garden.

As much as magic is foreign to me, I love my lessons with Penelope. She’s the only person who doesn’t treat me like the Chosen One, but instead just like Simon.

“Simon!” she exclaims when I enter the study, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. If anyone else saw, they would say our relationship is improper. Penelope doesn’t care about improper (she wears _trousers_ ).

I smile brightly and take my seat in the armchair.

“Shall we try a new spell today?” Penelope asks.

“Why not.” I take out my wand, frowning at it. Everyone has a different magickal instrument, usually something passed down in a family. Penelope’s instrument is a purple ring, and Agatha’s is a wand (though, I’ve never seen her use it). Seeing as I have no family, the Mage gave me this wand. According to Penelope, I probably struggle so much with magic because the wand isn’t tied to me by blood.

“How about **Afternoonified**?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m not keen on trying magic on a person,” I say, thinking back to the flowers that I killed last week.

“You won’t hurt me,” Penelope brushes me off. “Just try it. Remember, speak clearly and intentionally. Think about what you want to get out of the spell before you cast.”

I think about Penelope in a fancy evening gown and raise my wand. “ ** _Afternoonified!_** ”

At first, nothing happens. I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever outcome this might lead to. Suddenly, I feel my magic pour out of me. Opening my eyes, I see Penelope in a gown, but upon closer inspection, I realize she’s now wearing at least ten gowns, piled on top of each other.

“Great start, Simon,” she croaks out.

“Penelope, I’m so sorry!” I rush over to her, helping her out of the first nine dresses. I’m thankful that Agatha is still out in the garden, because if she saw this, I’m not sure it would go over well.

“Something happened this time, which is better than last week.”

“I nearly drowned you in dresses!” I shout. The air is starting to get crisp around us, and I can feel the fire beginning to pump through my veins.

“ ** _Steady on_** _ **!**_ ” Penelope says, magic filling her voice.

Sitting down in the armchair, I try to let her magic wash over me. I’ve never been good at calming down, which got me into a lot of trouble in the orphanage. Or, _orphanages_ , I should say. Every time I got into a fight or destroyed something, I was just sent off to another orphanage, as if that would help my problem.

According to the Mage, my problems with going off are due to my magic. Apparently I have an incredible amount of magic, much more than the average mage. It’s why I always feel like I’m on fire, why I’m filled with such an intense energy.

Such energy has consequences. I vividly remember sitting there in my tiny room in the boarding house with the Mage when he told me.

“Our greatest enemy is a beast we call the Insidious Humdrum,” he said. “It sucks up our magic, leaving dead spots in which magic can never return.”

He took me to one of the dead spots once, so I would know what we were facing. I was filled with a dry, sucking feeling, and my magic was all but gone. If these spots spread everywhere, magic would be lost.

That’s why I exist; I was prophesied. A mage strong enough to defeat the greatest evil the World of Mages has ever known. Being the most powerful mage ever known, they just assumed it was me.

I’d like to think that Penelope is here to teach me to use magic so I can actually fit in around here, but I know I’m being trained to be used as a weapon. I don’t want to be a weapon, but I have no choice. I need to save this world for these people, even if I don’t have a place with them.

“Doing okay, Simon?” Penelope asks.

“Just golden,” I say, taking a shaky breath.

The room is hot and smells like a smoky, sure sign of my magic. Holding it all in is painful, but if I went off, there would be no house for the Wellbeloves to live in.

“I think that’s all the magic for today,” Penelope says, patting my hand softly.

“Probably for the best.”

“I know you can learn, Simon. You are _not_ broken.”

I also love Penelope because she’s the only person who talks to me like this. The Mage says I’m a cracked vessel, a mage in need of fixing. Penelope doesn’t buy into all that. She still thinks I’m the Greatest Mage, but that I just need some help.

“Thanks, Penny,” I say softly.

Penelope raises her eyebrows. “Now, don’t you get too close with me, Mr. Snow. We don’t want anyone thinking we’re doing the bear.” She winks.

I pretend to shudder. “A revolting thought!”

“Speaking of doing the bear,” I smile, “would you like to come to the Wellbeloves’ party tonight?”

“Would my trousers be welcome?”

I think for a moment. “Probably not, but I think I just gave you the perfect dress,” I grin.

* * *

“Lovely here, isn’t it?” Agatha says, trying to stoke conversation.

I nod, shoving another sandwich into my mouth. Helen, the Wellbeloves’ maid, always packs finger sandwiches for our picnics, but they’re far too small for someone with an appetite like mine.

We’re sat next to the banks of a small brook that runs behind the Wellbeloves’ home. We always go here on our picnics (we never stray far from the house on our own).

Sighing, I lick my fingers and settle into the blanket. Agatha is wearing a soft white dress and fanning herself with a bright yellow fan. It _is_ lovely being here with her. This isn’t a situation I ever imagined myself being in, really. I never let myself imagine having a life, let alone a wife.

I take Agatha’s hand, because it seems like the thing to do. She blushes but squeezes my hand back.

“Has the Mage brought any Humdrum news?” she asks. Agatha has never shown an interest in my work with the Mage before, so I’m sure she’s just asking for my sake, which is sweet. Something good husbands and wives would do for each other, I suppose.

“No, he wants me to stay here and ‘hone my craft,’ or something along those lines.”

“And are you?”

“Honing my craft?” I laugh. “Not in the slightest.”

Agatha smiles sadly. “Is Miss Bunce not helpful?”

“Penelope is wonderful,” I say too quickly. “Miss Bunce tries her best. I think I’m just a particularly difficult student.”

“You certainly are special.”

This is what I mean when I say that I think Agatha loves me. She says such lovely things about me without prompting. That must be what love is, thinking nice things about another person for no reason. I think Agatha is beautiful, but I tend to think so because I know that’s what I should say.

“You’re special,” I say awkwardly. “Special to me, I mean.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side. “You are a strange man, Simon Snow.”

“You hardly know anything about me.”

“I know you love sour cherry scones,” she offers with a small smile.

“Everyone knows that,” I say, grabbing a scone from the pile she’s packed for our picnic (they’re _delicious_ and apparently a Watford favourite).

Agatha lets go of my hand and sits up more, carefully laying out her dress before her. “Then tell me more about yourself. What was it like growing up in an orphanage?”

I take a deep, shaky breath in. “Hard. I got kicked out a lot because of my magic, though I suppose the Normals had no idea about that.” I clear my throat, worrying that I’ll scare her away. “What was it like growing up here? It’s beautiful.”

“A beautiful cage is still a cage,” she looks down at her hands, fussing with the hem of her dress. “What was it like to grow up without magic?” Immediately, Agatha clamps a gloved hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t really know any different,” I begin.

“I have a few Normal friends from horseback riding, and their childhood seemed so wonderful,” Agatha says, her eyes filled with longing.

“I wouldn’t use that word to describe it.”

“Of course, my apologies,” she says, eyes glued to the ground. “Can I tell you a secret?”

I feel my eyes widen, but I nod.

“I hate magic. I feel no connection to it, really. If I could, I would run away from it.” Agatha looks at me, her eyes wild. “All magic has ever done is keep me trapped here and at Watford.”

I can feel my magic prickling under my skin. Agatha hates magic, and now she has to marry me — the living embodiment of magic. Even with my limited skill, I can’t imagine hating magic. The whole world opened up for me when the Mage found me. Without magic, I would still be that sad kid, wondering when his life might begin.

It sounds like Agatha is wondering when her life will begin, too. Am I the start of that, or am I another padlock on her cage? Neither of us have a choice, I realize. The burn of my magic intensifies, and I can tell that Agatha feels it too. I’m sure the air is already tinged with electricity.

“Simon, I’m sorry,” Agatha says, tears in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I still want to be with you. You might be the most interesting thing to ever happen to me,” she whispers.

I take her hand again, trying to comfort her. “I care for you, Agatha.”

When we kiss softly and briefly, it almost feels like a lie.

* * *

I look absolutely ridiculous. Also, I’m already burning up. No one is meant to wear this many layers — a shirt, a waistcoat, a tie, a jacket — certainly not a person who has an absurd amount of magic stored inside them.

This is a party with the Old Families, though, so I need to look presentable. I haven’t heard from the Mage, but Dr. Wellbelove handed me this getup and I got the message. Aside from the wedding and the festivities leading up to it, this might be one of my most important appearances.

If only I knew what I was meant to be doing. I think I just need to blend in, make a good impression. Stand next to Agatha and look handsome, or something. I can do that.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize that I look like someone who could do just that. I look like someone important and rich, someone fit to save the World of Mages. I don’t even need to cast an **Afternoonified** (if I even could). These clothes are quite afternoonified on their own.

Once I make it downstairs, the house is already set up for the party, with a few early guests trickling in. Agatha comes down the stairs as I take in the scene. She’s wearing a simple blue gown that puffs out at the waist, with spots of silver flowers embroidered on it. I expect to feel more at seeing her like this, but I suppose that’s the nature of an arranged marriage.

I bow my head to her as she approaches. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She smiles, a faint blush on her cheeks. She’s quickly whisked away as more guests arrive. I mostly stand behind her and smile. I’d expected to be more intimidated at an event like this, but something about Agatha makes me feel untouchable. Her beauty pulls people in the room toward her, and by extension, away from me.

After seeing face after face that I don’t recognize, I nearly jump for joy when Penelope enters. She looks stunning in the emerald green gown I spelled on her earlier. She’s positively glowing.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” she’s saying to Agatha’s parents as I push past them, excited to greet her.

“Penelope! I’m so happy you came,” I smile. I figure it’s appropriate for me to show her around, seeing as she’s my guest.

I tell Agatha I’ll meet up with her later and show Penelope around the party. We end up by the food (this is an appetizer-only affair), with people watching. Penelope’s family certainly isn’t one of the Old Families, but she still has magickal standing. Still, I think she doesn’t recognize most of these people either, which is a huge comfort.

“Are all these people invited to your wedding?” Penny asks in between bites.

“All these and more,” I groan. “Some are even coming to stay prior to the wedding.”

“Is the Mage coming?” Penny asks, scrunching up her face. She isn’t the biggest fan of the Mage, for reasons unknown to me. I suspect she’s not the biggest fan of him controlling my life.

“He hasn’t been around to see me since he dropped me here,” I say.

“I suppose he does everything for a reason, but Merlin and Morgana, you would think he would show an interest in your life!” Penelope keeps ranting, but I stop listening when my eye catches on someone brooding in the corner.

He looks to be about my age, with shoulder-length black hair. He’s standing all alone, leaning against the wall with a drink in his hand. He’s wearing a suit not unlike mine, but he’s wearing a pair of gas pipes that work on him surprisingly well.

“Who’s that?” I interrupt.

“Who?”

I nod in his direction. “Brooding in the corner.”

“Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch,” Penny explains, “heir of one of the oldest Families there is.”

I take a closer look at him. He certainly looks important, but why is he all alone? “I should probably go talk to him.”

Penelope furrows her brow. “Why? He’s nasty, and I’m pretty sure he’s a vampire.”

“Great snakes, Penny, you can’t just _say_ that!”

If he’s here, he’s a mage. From what little I know, I know for sure that mages and vampires don’t mix — someone would have hurled a fireball at him by now and ended his miserable life.

“He’s just so _pale_ ,” Penelope says, as if that’s all the evidence she needs.

I crane my neck for a better look at him, hoping I’m not being too obvious. He certainly is pale, but I don’t think that’s exactly ironclad evidence.

He catches my eye and scowls at me before turning his attention back to the wall. I feel my magic sear up, twisting my stomach into knots.

“I need to get on his good side,” I insist. “I’ll be right back.”

“Simon, I—”

“It’s for the future of magic!” I say, not quite believing it. It seems to convince her to let me go, though.

He looks at me once again when he realizes I’m headed his way. All the air leaves my lungs. _What’s going on?_

“Hello, Snow,” he says.

“How do you know my name?” I blurt out.

He smirks. “You really are as daft as they said you would be. Everyone knows who you are, Chosen One.”

“Fine, _Tyrannus_ ,” I say, just to prove I know who he is too.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks deeply into my eyes. His eyes are the grey of a stormy sky. “Your Mage has briefed you on the war, then, has he?”

He definitely has _not_ done that, but I nod anyway.

He extends his hand, and I shake it. “You can call me Basilton,” he purrs.

I feel my magic bristling in my hand, but I feel something else there too. _His magic,_ I realize. Penny told me that everyone’s magic is a bit different (hers is thick and tastes like sage). Basilton’s is hot, and it burns. _Is it normal for magic to interact during a handshake?_ I drop his hand like I’ve touched a burning stove.

“I was hoping you two would meet!” Dr. Wellbelove says, clapping a hand on my back. “I think you two could solve a lot of the Coven’s problems.”

I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, but I nod like I do anyway. Why does everyone think the Mage tells me things?

“Surely we could, sir,” Basilton says, completely cool and collected. As if our magic didn’t just _recognize each other_. At least that’s what it felt like. Maybe it’s more normal than I thought. “What do you say, Snow? Shall we go somewhere more private to discuss?”

I swallow hard. “Certainly.” I smile politely at Dr. Wellbelove and follow Basilton out of the room.

Penelope catches my eye as I leave. _What’s going on?_ She mouths. I send her a look that I hope says _damfino!_

We enter the study and close the door behind us, leaving the noise of the party behind. Basilton sits down in an armchair and looks at me slyly. I should say _drapes himself over_ the armchair, because he looks really bloody posh.

“Where _is_ your Mage, Snow?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

“Busy looking for the Humdrum, I’d assume,” I say, my mouth growing drier by the second.

He smiles and takes a sip of his drink, and I spot a golden ring glinting on his fourth finger.

“You do know your Mage has been raiding the Old Families’ homes,” Basilton says curtly.

I feel my magic sizzling at my skin. “He’s not _my_ Mage,” I say, unsure why it matters.

“The Wellbeloves are certainly lucky you haunt their halls.” He gets up, surveying the bookshelves around us. “Not that they have anything valuable here for you to protect.”

Why is he such an arsehole? He moves gracefully around the library, almost like oil. I’m starting to think Penelope might be right about the vampire thing. Up close, I can tell that he even has a widow’s peak.

He scrunches up his nose. “Merlin, your magic smells like fire and brimstone.”

“Aren’t we here to discuss Coven business?” I spit out.

Basilton laughs. “What do you think we can do for the Coven?”

“Fix the rift between the Mage and the Old Families?”

He laughs even harder, showing his teeth. I strain my eyes to look for fangs, but I can’t get a good look. “The only way you could fix it would be to kill me.”

It’s starting to consume me, my magic. The Mage couldn’t expect me to _kill_ someone, could he? Even if he probably is a vampire. Not for the first time, I feel as though I’m in over my head.

I set my jaw. “My marriage to Agatha will create a bridge between the Families and the Mage,” I say, trying to prove my worth.

Basilton stops looking through the bookshelves and walks straight up to me, his stormy eyes locking onto mine. “If you think a _marriage_ to one of the weakest Families is going to fix all of this, you must be even more daft than I thought.”

I must look confused, because he clarifies. “Wellbelove’s mother is obsessed with power. It’s no secret that she tried for ages to find a powerful mage for Agatha to marry, to get the family back on course. Why else would they agree to marry their daughter off to a magickal orphan?”

My magic is spilling out of my hands now, and it’s filling the room at a dizzying speed. If I don’t stop soon…

“Oh come now, Snow. Try to relax. We mustn't have you going off at this lovely party,” Basilton smirks, putting a hand on my shoulder. My magic crackles at the place where his palm makes contact.

I just look at him dumbly as he gives my shoulder a pat and leaves the room.

Taking a few deep breaths, I feel my magic seep down into my bones, no longer a threat. My heart is racing, which I’m sure is a consequence of nearly going off. _What just happened?_ My head is spinning. Basilton said nothing of substance to me, yet he’d managed to say everything.

The Mage _raiding_ homes? For what? Surely he has a good reason for doing so. Surely he has a good reason for not telling me. I have no choice but to trust him. He saved me from a life of squalor, told me I have magic, brought me to this place. The Mage gave me everything, so I have to help him.

And that business about the Wellbeloves not being powerful. They’re lovely people, and he is a _guest_ in their home. How dare he speak of them that way? How dare he speak of my _fiancée_ that way?

Perhaps Agatha wants to leave this world behind because she knows she lacks power. I hadn’t thought of that. Does she feel just as out of place as I do here, even with all my power? I smile in spite of myself. _We have more in common than I thought._ This marriage could work after all.

I decide that I hate Basilton. It sounds like I’m meant to, from what he said about me needing to kill him. He’s arrogant and stupidly attractive. I hate how his trousers hugged his legs ever so perfectly (he’s definitely rich enough for a bespoke suit) and how he sat in that armchair. It makes me want to go knock it over. I think I might do it.

“Simon?” a sweet voice calls.

I turn and see Agatha before me, realizing I’ve abandoned her at her own party. I’m a terrible fiancé.

“Hello, Agatha,” I say, trying to hide that fact that I was about to knock over a very expensive chair out of frustration.

“Helen is bringing out the scones, I thought you’d want some,” she says tentatively.

Agatha is just so thoughtful. We make sense, I realize. She can calm my storm, and I can bring some excitement to her life.

I take her arm, grinning. “I would love that.”

For the rest of the night, I follow Agatha around, forcing smiles as I’m introduced to various folks. Penny must have left after I went into the library with Basilton, which is fine. I felt bad dragging her here anyway. I can’t find Basilton anywhere, either. Surely he’s off, lurking in a corner, plotting my demise. I’d love to catch him.

I’m almost disappointed that I don’t.

* * *

We’re all at breakfast the next morning as I struggle to resist the urge to ask about Basilton. Agatha’s parents are talking about the party last night and how well it went, but I’ve been distracted. Do they know if he’s a vampire, or if I’m meant to kill him?

I shovel scone after scone in my mouth (left over from last night — heavenly!), in an effort to keep my mouth shut.

“I think Simon made a wonderful impression on the Families,” Agatha is saying. I perk up at the mention of my name and smile (with my mouth closed, seeing as an entire scone is stuffed in there).

“I would say so!” Dr. Wellbelove agrees, “Simon was certainly making an impression on Mr. Pitch when I saw them.”

I gulp down my scones, cheeks growing hot as I’m reminded of the encounter. “Are the Pitches the enemy?” I ask, unable to resist.

“They’ve made the Mage their enemy,” Dr. Wellbelove says sternly. “They don’t agree with his reforms one bit.”

Agatha’s soft eyes meet mine. “Tyrannus’s mother was murdered when we were young. The Humdrum sent vampires to Watford,” she explains.

_Vampire attack?_

“To the nursery,” Dr. Wellbelove continues. “Tyrannus was there, but his mother saved him.”

I’m _really_ curious about this attack and its vampiric implications, but I still need to know if I need to worry about him.

“Am I meant to fight Bas- _Tyrannus_?” I ask, realizing that he must not let everyone call him Basilton.

“Some of the Old Families are expecting him to fight you, but he’s just a boy, like you.” Dr. Wellbelove chuckles. “He’s so melancholy, though. Not much of a gal-sneaker, is he?”

“Daphne and I have tried finding nice women for him time and again, but he always turns them down,” Mrs. Wellbelove rolls her eyes.

I think back to his ring, sitting snugly on his fourth finger. I asked Agatha last night, and she said fourth finger means one never intends to be married. He could marry any woman he wanted, with his looks and mysterious air. Perhaps he’s afraid someone would realize he’s a vampire if they got too close.

“He is quite off-putting,” I say. “Do you know, though, does the Mage want me to kill him?”

Everyone’s eyes widen.

“We shan’t discuss such things,” Mrs. Wellbelove looks worried.

“My apologies, ma’am. The Mage hasn’t told me much, and well, that’s what Tyrannus told me,” I say.

Breakfast ends pretty soon after that. I guess the Wellbeloves don’t enjoy getting themselves stuck up in mage politics (as if my joining the family isn’t a radical act).

I’m back to my spot out in the garden, waiting for Helen to bring my tea. At first I felt uncomfortable having someone waiting on me, but the odd thing about Helen is that no one here treats her like a maid. She doesn’t wear a uniform, and she’s on a first name basis with all the members of the household. It just makes the whole situation stranger for me.

“Here’s your tea, Simon,” Helen smiles. “Oh! I nearly forgot. A letter came for you today.”

She hands me a thin envelope and heads back inside. No one ever sends me letters, so I’m anxious to open it. It could be the Mage!

_Snow,_

_I apologise for any offense I may have caused last evening. In all, it was truly quite enchanting to meet you at long last. Upon further reflection, I suppose we could try to come to an agreement regarding the Coven business. This may not have to end in flames._

_May I see you again?_

_Respectfully,_

_Baz_

It takes me a moment to realize that Baz is Basilton (who is also Tyrannus — who gave him so many names?). I can feel my magic sizzling under my skin. _May I see you again?_

I want to know what he’s plotting. I want to keep close watch on him, with his stupidly perfect hair and pale skin and soft lips and evil tendencies.

I send a note telling him to join me for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> afternoonified: smart  
> make a stuffed bird laugh: preposterous  
> doing the bear: courting that involves hugging  
> gas pipes: particularly tight pants  
> damifino: a shortened version of "damn if I know!"  
> gal-sneaker: a man devoted to seduction
> 
> [Find me on tumblr.](http://effing-numpties.tumblr.com)


	2. Ivy Grows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has a plot simon _needs_ to get in on. Expect lots of letters and one especially harrowing encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much to my brilliant beta, [Ampithoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe), who catches all my blindspots.
> 
> Also, a massive thank you to the best cheerleader a writer could ask for, [seducing_a_vampire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seducing_a_vampire/works). 
> 
> Don't forget that you can [listen along!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rKgxX8RUUgIBlz7wg7CfX?si=ToYpYa0yR8Cm9UIkzMvXrw) Each chapter is three tracks on the playlist. Check out [my tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/tagged/blaze-in-the-dark) for the track list as it's posted.
> 
> Victorian slang definitions in the end notes!

Penny comes tumbling in, carrying a mannequin over her shoulder. She sets it down triumphantly. “What do you think?” she asks.

“What is it _for?_ ” I grimace.

“I thought we could practice some combat spells today.”

I groan, putting a hand to my forehead. “Even you want me to fight Basilton!”

Penelope looks surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Tyrannus, Basilton, _Baz_ , whatever you call him!” I exclaim. “Last night, he told me that the only way to fix all this would be to kill him. I don’t want to kill anyone!”

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says, coming over to where I’m sitting and putting a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to fight anyone. You got thrown into this mess, it’s not your fault.”

It’s true. If the Mage had left me alone, I wouldn’t be sitting here, worrying about ending two separate wars in the same place. I feel something like hatred start bubbling up in my stomach, followed by immense guilt. How can I hate someone who practically saved my life? I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d be doing without his help.

“Your interaction with Tyrannus was that bad, then?” she asks.

“At first it wasn’t awful. He even told me to call him Basilton.”

I catch Penelope cock an eyebrow as she moves to sit in the chair across from mine.

“Then he got so _mean_. He really hates the Mage,” I say.

“Let’s focus on beating the Humdrum. If you can beat him, you probably never have to see Basilton again.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Penny. Besides, he’s coming over for tea today,” I shrug.

“Why?” Penny asks incredulously.

_Because I’m absolutely drawn to his mysterious nature and want to know if he’s a vampire?_

“Coven business,” I say instead. “I want to stay up to date on what he’s plotting, anyway.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “I don’t know that he’s plotting so much as brooding in that mansion of his.”

“Something seemed off about him. I think you’re right about the vampire thing.”

“Simon, that was mostly a joke. I don’t think he’s actually a vampire,” Penny chastises.

“His mother died in a _vampire attack_ and he was _there_!” I practically shout.

“All right, Simon, let’s calm down,” she keeps her voice level.

I didn’t even realize it, but my magic has risen in my throat, and the room has a low hum going. At least Penelope never yells at me when I’m in danger of going off. Most people think it helps, but really, it makes it immensely worse.

“One more thing, though. Does magic recognize other magic?” I ask tentatively.

Penny thinks for a moment. “Not usually. I mean I can feel your magic, but it’s not a recognition, per se.”

“I mean, if we were to shake hands, would you feel my magic in your hand?”

“Not usually,” she says. “Perhaps because you have so much magic you can feel it? Let’s try.” She sticks out her hand.

I shake it, but feel nothing. “I guess I was wrong.”

“About?”

“I thought I felt Basilton’s magic when we shook hands,” I say, embarrassed.

“It’s not impossible, but you may have just been worked up when you met him.” Penelope stands, putting her hands on her hips. “How about we do some training, get your mind off this?”

I nod, and we get to work. Today she’s trying to teach me **Cop a mouse** , which would punch the opponent in the face. I don’t know how I could give a mannequin a black eye, but I suppose I _am_ a mage. More things are possible than I ever thought.

As we prepare and Penny drones on about which words need more emphasis than others, I can’t help but think this would be easier to do with my sword. I could chop the mannequin’s head clean off! The few times I’ve seen the Mage, he’s done some sword practice with me, and I think I’ve taken to it much better than casting spells. Which is why my lessons with Penelope are so vital, I suppose.

After nearly thirty minutes, it’s finally time for me to make an attempt.

“You’d better stand back,” I advise. Penny gets out of the way, and I take a deep breath. As much as I prefer my sword, so many things rely on my proficiency as a magician (or so everyone tells me). _Let this one spell work_ , I think. _Please, just this time_. **_“Cop a mouse!”_** I cast.

The mannequin’s head explodes.

“I think you’ve proven you could kill Basilton, if need be,” Penny jokes.

“Very funny,” I grumble.

Penelope spells away the mess and takes my hands. “Just focus on the wedding, yeah? The magic will come with practise.”

“All right,” I say, blushing as she kisses my cheek.

Giving my hands one last squeeze, she leaves, throwing me a smile over her shoulder as she does.

* * *

I’ve been pacing in front of the door for the past half hour now, waiting for Basilton to arrive. I mess with my tie (I never can get it just right) and smooth over my hair.

“Okay there, Simon?” Helen asks.

“Just awaiting some company,” I say, trying not to sound too nervous.

She nods. “Ah yes, that Mr. Pitch. I’ll put the tea on.”

“Thank you, Helen,” I smile.

My interactions with Helen are so normal that they’re almost Normal. Aside from Penny, she’s the only one who ignores the Chosen One bit and looks just at _Simon_. I’m not sure even Agatha can see past the glittering promise that comes along with me.

Finally, there’s a knock at the door, and I answer immediately. Basilton looks surprised (or at least his eyebrows do).

“Please, come in,” I say, then immediately regret it. If I’d waited for him to follow me, I would have known for _sure_ if he was a vampire. (Assuming they have to be invited inside, and that’s not just a myth.)

Basilton follows me out to the garden, where Helen has laid an impressive teatime spread. The garden is beautiful at this time of day, the purples and pinks and yellows of the flowers shining brightly in the afternoon sun.

“So,” I say as Basilton busies himself with his tea, “what is it you think we can fix?”

“ _Fix_ is a strong word,” he says coolly.

“It was your idea to talk again!”

Basilton takes a long, slow sip of his tea. “What do you know about the Mage?”

I want to respond with an angry _“Everything!”_ , but upon further consideration, I realize I know next to nothing about him. “Very little.”

“As I thought,” he smirks.

“I know your family is against him,” I say, jutting my chin out, like I’m preparing for a fight.

The smirk grows into a grin. “That’s not the point, Snow. The point is, I know nothing about him and _you_ know nothing about him.”

“So?”

“So, what if we did some research? Surely you would love to know more about your replacement father, and I would love to know more about the man who has taken it upon himself to destroy my family.”

I scoff. “ _Destroy?_ Really, Basilton?”

“Please, call me Baz,” he says decadently.

“Fine. _Baz_ , does he really have it out for your family?” I like saying his name that way. _Baz_. It’s his name nearly whittled down to nothing, almost like the inside of a nesting doll. Keep your enemies close, isn’t that what they say?

“Do you know what your Mage does in his spare time?”

I shake my head.

“Comes to my house, scares my siblings. Rifles through our things.”

“He must have a good reason!” I say, trying to convince myself more than Baz.

Baz crosses his legs, sitting forward in his seat. “He hated my mother and all that she stood for. Only _worthy_ magicians could gain entry to Watford—your Mage barely had enough power to get in.”

My eyes widen and I cough, trying to hide my surprise.

“Now anyone with an ounce of magic can get in,” he continues.

“Is that so bad?” I ask, thinking of Agatha. She has plenty of magic, but is she worthy by Pitch standards?

Baz’s face falls for a moment, almost like he’s not so sure himself, but he regains his composure nearly instantaneously. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it, that one second of unease. I smile, glad to have caught him unawares.

“You know there is no such thing as a magickal orphan, right?” he asks, his grey eyes boring a hole into my skull.

My mouth goes dry.

“Do you want to know where you came from?” Baz’s eyes soften, as does his voice.

“How would the Mage know?”

“He found you, didn’t he?”

Baz has a point. Penelope had mentioned in passing that I was an anomaly, but I didn’t realize that I was a unique event.

I do want to know where I came from, though. Especially if I shouldn’t exist. “So, if I were to help you, what would I have to do?”

“Nothing too intense, just ask him a few questions. I haven’t all the details yet.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” I say, realizing how childish it sounds as soon as it leaves my mouth.

“Frightened, are we?” Baz raises an eyebrow.

I sigh angrily and choose a flower to stare at. I don’t have a good comeback for that. Honestly, I am a bit frightened. If this could lead to learning about my parents, it might all be worth it, but Baz hates the Mage, so I think he’d stop at nothing to hurt him.

That’s it! If I go along with his little plan, I can keep an eye on him. That’s what this get-together was for, anyway. I want to know exactly what he’s plotting, and if I join him, I’ll have an insider spot.

“I’ll do it,” I say, standing.

“Good man,” Baz smiles, sticking out his hand. He looks suspiciously pleased.

I shake his hand, and there it is again, the pulse of his magic. His hand fidgets in my grip, and I realize he must feel it too. I pull my hand away hastily, but the feeling remains.

“Shall we go for a walk?” I blurt out.

Baz raises an eyebrow, surprised. (I’m jealous of him—I can’t move one eyebrow at a time, but he practically holds conversations between his brows.)

“Why not.”

“There’s a lovely little brook back here,” I say, leading him down the slope of the Wellbeloves’ back garden.

We’re silent as we walk along the brook, giving me a chance to get a good look at him for the first time today. He’s a tad less pale in the light of day (which vampires are burnt by, right?), and his hair is loose, little waves bounding down from his head. Of course he has another pair of gas pipes on today (apparently he only owns tight trousers—go figure).

The faint _clop_ of a horse approaches, and I turn to see Agatha riding side saddle, stopping in front of the two of us. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in Baz (do I need to be worried about that?).

“Out for a ride, Agatha?” I ask, trying to get her attention on me instead.

“Obviously,” Baz says, sounding bored.

Agatha smiles, a faint blush sprouting on her cheeks. “I was hoping you two would become friends,” she says.

_Was she?_ At breakfast she didn’t seem opposed to me putting a stake through Baz’s heart.

“I think you would get along wonderfully with my stepmother,” Baz says. “She’s just about as stable minded as you.”

“Perhaps we could ride together,” Agatha says excitedly.

_Yes, and perhaps you and Baz could have a lovely little family of devilishly handsome children!_

“Daphne would love that.” Baz’s voice is like velvet.

Agatha nods, smiling brightly. “Good day!”

We both give her a little wave as she rides off to the stables. My stomach is squirming, and I can already feel the hot sting of my magic. I feel protective of Agatha, even if we don’t know each other too well yet. I just know that Baz wouldn’t be good for her.

“You don’t intend to marry, do you?” I ask, my voice rough.

He looks amused. “Love is complicated.”

“That’s not a bloody answer, is it?” I shout.

“I’m not interested in Wellbelove,” Baz says.

“So she’s not good enough for you? She’d dilute your magic?” I growl.

Baz looks like he’s about to bite back, but he just rolls his eyes. “I don’t intend to marry, remember?” he says, throwing my words back at me.

He turns to leave, but I reach for his shoulder. Our magic practically sizzles at the contact.

“I’ll still help you. I...I want to know,” I say, my voice sounding especially small in the wake of my outburst.

“Just write to me,” he says, already walking away.

* * *

**May 13th**   
_Dear Baz,_

_Some people are arriving for the wedding next week. That might be a good time for you to come over without raising suspicion. I’m sure you don’t want anyone else onto what we’re doing._

_Just come around any time next week._

_Your friend,_

_Simon_

**May 14th**   
_Snow,_

_You were right to assume this is meant to be kept secret. You mustn’t go blabbering on to that tutor of yours about this. I believe I can trust you—try not to prove me wrong._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Baz Pitch_

**May 15th**   
_Dear Baz,_

_I don’t know anything about you. I feel as though if I’m meant to trust you, I should know a few basic facts about you._

_I’ll start, if that makes it easier. I’m sure this is the talk of the magickal community, but I’m not the best at magic. The other day, I exploded a mannequin with “Cop a mouse.” I’m sure you think me a disgrace, but I’m certain you believed that already._

_Tell me something about yourself, or don’t bother showing up for help._

_Your friend,_

_Simon_

**May 16th**   
_I’m not telling you anything, Snow._

**May 17th**   
_Don’t bother coming by, Tyrannus._

**May 18th**   
_Snow,_

_Fine. I have four siblings. Mordelia, the oldest, is about seven. She’s a menace. Then there are the twins and the baby. You do not get their names._

_Your obliged and affectionate friend,_

_Baz_

**May 19th**   
_Dear Baz,_

_They sound lovely! I want them invited to the wedding, do you think that’s possible? Here’s another fact about me:_

_My tutor, Penelope Bunce, is my best friend. She’s our age, so it’s not really that sad. She’s the only person who doesn’t treat me like the Chosen One all the time. It’s tiring to be everyone’s last hope, you know?_

_You probably don’t know. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this._

_Your friend,_

_Simon_

**May 20th**   
_Dear Snow,_

_Woe is you, O Chosen One. As much as I hate to admit it, I do know how you feel._

_Expect me tomorrow at twelve._

_I have the honour to be your obedient servant,_

_Baz_

**May 21st**   
_Dear Baz,_

_I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said today, but I’m not exactly sure how I can pepper these questions into conversation with the Mage. I mean, how do I ask him why my parents gave me up? That’s a bloody loaded question!_

_I also never see him…_

_Things are getting crazy ‘round here, as you might have expected. I think we should meet up again to talk more, especially since the house is too full for anyone to notice what we’re up to._

_One of our oddest guests is Lady Salisbury. The old widow goes to the graveyard down the road every day. She asks me if I want to come, sometimes, but I don’t go. I just sit here and wait, grieving for the living, for me and Agatha._

_I feel like I can trust you._

_I don’t think either of us want to be married—it really was the Mage’s idea. My life is set in stone, and so is hers. I might as well just continue on this path, I suppose._

_Simon_

**May 22nd**   
_Why not choose a new path?_

* * *

I sigh at the letter in my hands. It’s not signed, but I know who it’s from. Baz and I have been exchanging letters non-stop. I feel bad for the mail carrier tasked with carting our letters back and forth.

It’s mad, but I feel as though these letters are the only place I can _really_ talk to Baz. Sure, his conclusions are almost always sarcastically affectionate, but it’s better than the cold and cut-off Baz I get in person. Despite all our writings, when he came over on Tuesday, I still got his cool smiles and rude replies. In his letters, he’s still cool, don’t get me wrong, but he also gives little pieces of himself away in each one. _Keep giving me them_ , I want to say, _I’ll put the pieces together_.

This letter in particular, though, is haunting me. The more I look at it, the angrier I get. I can’t just choose a new path. I’ve been prophesied for years, and I’m pretty sure prophecies aren’t mistakes.

If I _could_ choose a new path, what would I choose? Penny and I could run away—she talks about that sometimes, says she wants to protect me, take me someplace far, far away. Maybe Baz could come. He’s a tad infuriating, but wouldn’t that make the days more interesting?

They’re certainly not interesting now. I sit out in the garden with my tea, and I go on picnics with Agatha. I can see why Agatha has become so tired of this life.

Things have been fine between us, but something is off ever since she saw Baz. When I’m reading his letters, it’s easy to forget that interaction. Whenever I see Agatha, though, all I can think about is Baz looking impossibly handsome and desirable, and her obvious fascination with him.

I take a deep breath, realizing my hands are starting to shake. Agatha doesn’t get to have Baz! Ideally, he’s coming to some remote corner of the world with Penny and me. Besides, Agatha couldn’t marry a _vampire_.

I’m almost sure that’s what he is now. The last time we were together, I swear I saw the beginnings of his fangs. His mouth looked particularly full, and he quickly turned his face to the side to hide them. He looked so pale; maybe being in a forest full of creatures waiting to be drained dry was too much for him.

I know I should be frightened of vampires (I’ve heard _lots_ of stories), but Baz doesn’t seem to fit in with that dark, criminal image so many people give to vampires. He just seems a little sad.

If only he’d be honest with me, maybe I could help him! I was half hoping he would tell me he’s a vampire when I asked him to share a fact about himself, but I doubt he’d put it in writing. Someday I’ll pester him into telling me.

_Someday?_ As if there might be some future friendship between us, as if he doesn’t hate me at his core. He’s just using me for his little Mage investigation; he doesn’t want to be best mates. _I_ should probably hate _him_ , honestly. With the Agatha business and his telling me what to do with my life.

It’s hard to manage it when he’s…

...standing right in front of me?

“Snow,” he says. No greeting, no announcing his presence in the room. Just my name.

“I wish you’d call me Simon,” I grumble.

“And I wish the Mage wasn’t such a menace.” Baz rolls his eyes and settles into the armchair across from me.

I don’t normally go to the study to relax, but the house is overrun with wedding guests, and I needed to escape. As sweet as Lady Salisbury is, it’s hard to listen to her talk about how much she misses her daughter all day long.

Seeing him sitting across from me, I actually fully register the fact that he’s here. As if he hadn’t just come to visit me yesterday. Maybe he _does_ want to be my best mate.

“How did you get up here?” I ask.

“Helen let me in,” Baz explains, “and I told everyone I had important business with Mr. Snow.”

“Does annoying me fall under important business now?” I say, though my voice lacks any bite.

“What would you think about a picnic?” Baz asks, raising an eyebrow.

I groan. “I go on enough picnics with Agatha.”

Baz’s face hardens. “Where is the blushing bride today?”

“Out riding.” I don’t say that she’s out with her Normal friends. I’m not sure Baz would approve of her fraternization with the Normals.

“I suppose you could wait for her to come back. Though it’d be such a shame, really, to waste the picnic basket I brought,” he says.

“All right then, let’s go.” I’m ashamed that even Baz knows he can lure me anywhere with good food.

We head down to the brook on the grounds, moving a little way into the forest that stands beside it. As Baz sets out the blanket and the food, I can’t help but remember Agatha and I picnicking brook-side.

Agatha knows the only way to connect with me is through food—and now Baz thinks so too! We sit side by side, and I dig into a roast beef sandwich far larger than anything Helen usually packs for us. Really, we’re a mirror image of Agatha and me, but with larger sandwiches. I push away the odd feeling that comes with the comparison.

“What are you plotting?” I say around my bite of sandwich.

Baz smiles, his eyes trained at some far-off point. “What, can’t I invite a friend out for lunch?”

“You’re not even eating!” I protest. Do his fangs show when he eats? I wish I had another chance to spot them.

“As if there will be any food left when you’re done,” he retorts.

I want to respond, but he’s probably right. We’re silent for a few minutes, allowing me to appreciate the sounds of nature. I can’t even remember the last time I experienced a calm like this.

“It’s nice to get a reprieve from the wedding hubbub,” I say when I’ve finished my second sandwich.

“Having problems with Agatha?” Baz asks with a hint of mockery.

I set my jaw. “No. Just a lot of people ‘round the house.”

He raises an eyebrow. My magic responds immediately, surging up right below my skin.

“Oh, come on, Baz!” I exclaim, jumping to my feet. “You know it’s been hard for me.”

“Is being the Chosen One not what you expected?” Baz says coolly.

The smell of my magic fills the air. “I didn’t _choose_ to be _chosen_ , you idiot! The Mage gave me a sword and a wand and the _weight of the world_ and left!” With every word, my magic fills me up even more, threatening to spill out over the sides. “I’m trying so hard to be what everyone needs—I’m trying—”

In one swift motion, Baz is at my side, taking both my hands in his. I feel the now familiar burn of his magic against my skin.

“Snow. Breathe.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“Your hands are freezing!” I shout. His magic burns, but his hands are cold.

“If you could do anything, what would you do?”

I roll my eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’d be ridiculous would be if you burnt this forest to the ground.” He takes a breath. “What would you do?”

I grumble, but I answer him. “I think I’d just go somewhere quiet. Penny talks about it sometimes, wanting to take me out of this insane situation and just relax. I wouldn’t get married so soon.” My magic is already beginning to settle down.

Baz still has my hands. “Merlin, do all vampires have icicles for hands?” I actually gasp when I register what just left my mouth. Apparently I can stop my magic from exploding out of me, but I’ve yet to conquer words.

He jerks his hands away and scowls. “Why don’t you ask one?”

“I thought I just did!” I say, throwing my hands in the air.

That just seems to anger him further, though. I’m scrambling for something to say to make this all better when we hear it. The air sounds like it’s being chopped in half, and I can feel a familiar dry, sucking feeling starting to creep in. Where do I know that feeling from?

“The Humdrum,” Baz says, as if he’d been reading my mind.

The ground shakes as something runs through the forest, settling on the lawn behind the Wellbeloves’ home. When I see it breathe fire, I’m almost sure it’s a dragon. (For some reason, the Mage wanted me prepared for a dragon attack—he even showed me drawings of them and told me how to kill them.) ( _Just chop off its head, Simon_ , he said.)

I run towards the yard at full speed, calling my sword as I go. _Let’s see if the training paid off_ , I think.

When I make it to the lawn, I realize it is absolutely _not_ a dragon. It’s something with a lion body and head, but the lion breathes fire. As it rears its head towards me, I spot a goat head attached to the middle, and a serpent tail poised above them.

“A chimera,” Baz breathes. He must have run up behind me without me noticing (are vampires extra quiet?).

The chimera’s blowing fire, scorching the grass around it. It’s good that the house sits far up on the hill, safe (for now) from the fire.

I run toward it, slashing with my sword in all directions, just trying to get a hit in. I’m not sure which head to go for first—the lion’s seems to be the most dangerous, so I go with that. I can hear Baz casting spells behind me, but none of them seem to be landing.

“Did you have something to do with this?” I yell at him over my shoulder. Maybe he’s trying to get rid of me prematurely.

“Merlin, Snow, it’s obviously the Humdrum! I’m not trying to kill you!”

He sounds more sincere than usual, so I go back to trying to cut off the lion’s head as Baz starts throwing fireballs. Watching them fly by is mesmerizing, but I’m brought back to reality as the goat starts biting at my clothes, which is more annoying than dangerous. The snake is just staring at me, which I’m trying not to think about.

I can hear people screaming up at the house as they look on. Parties were supposed to be my place to prove myself to this community, but apparently I get to prove my worth right now. Splendid!

The blind slashing method isn’t working, so I try to aim for its eyes.

**_“Half-rats!”_** Baz shouts behind me. I’ve no idea why he wanted the chimera to be a little intoxicated, but it seems to work. The creature stumbles in front of me. I look up the hill and see the houseguests gathered in the garden, and I can spot Penny’s wild hair even from here.

“We have to get them out of here, Baz!” I yell, thankful to have a short reprieve as the chimera tries to right itself.

**_“Nothing to see here!”_** Baz shouts, his wand pointed at the crowd. They don’t move (apparently we’re too exciting!).

I take a step back, placing a hand on Baz’s shoulder. I wish I could give him some of my magic, that he could use it. I certainly haven’t been using it in this battle.

I think about pushing my magic to him, and he turns to me, eyes wild.

**_“Nothing to see here!”_** he booms, and everyone runs inside.

The chimera, finally standing up straight again, looks at us with all three heads.

“What are we supposed to do about this?” I gulp.

“Just trust me,” Baz says, nodding to my hand on his shoulder.

I push more magic into him, feeling his fiery magic mix with mine. _Take it_ , I think, _take whatever you need_. I open myself up, trying to be like the brook beside us, letting my magic flow.

**_“Off with his head!”_** Baz shouts, and all three heads are sliced clean off.

We’re left gasping in its wake.

**_“Into thin air!”_** Baz says, his voice tired. The chimera disappears, sparing our houseguests from the spectacle.

Baz has his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He looks exhausted. Penny says that happens to most magicians. They don’t have an endless supply of magic like I seem to. Instead, a lot of casting can leave them tired, almost empty.

“ _Simon,_ ” Baz starts. Before he can say anything else, Penelope is running down the hill toward us at breakneck speed (a benefit of wearing trousers, I suppose).

I feel guilty immediately. I was supposed to have a lesson with her this afternoon, but I missed it to picnic with Baz.

“That was a wonderful usage of Shakespeare, Basilton,” Penny says, clearly in awe. “ _Henry VI_ , correct?”

Baz nods, stunned.

Penelope’s face hardens, like she just remembered why she came down here. “You two need to come with me _right now,_ ” she says fiercely, grabbing our sleeves and dragging us behind her.

“A bricky one, isn’t she?” Baz says, almost giddy in the wake of the fight.

I don’t know about him, but I can’t stop thinking about our magic interacting as I gave him my magic. I can almost feel the fiery sensation and smell the burnt scent of my magic.

Penny doesn't say another word until we’re in the study with the door firmly closed behind us.

“How did you do that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Baz has his posh voice on, the one he used with me at the party when we first met.

“I know you gave him some of your magic, Simon, I could tell!” Penelope says, crossing her arms.

“We spelled you inside!” I shout, sounding guilty.

Penny rolls her eyes. “I watched from the window.”

“Fine. I just _pushed,_ ” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “You know as well as I do that I’m shit at controlling my magic.”

“Try it on me,” she says, holding out her arms.

I know better than to argue with Penelope, so I put my hands on her arms and give a little push.

She jumps away from me immediately, shaking out her arms like they sting. “Merlin and Morgana, Simon! _Ow!_ ”

“I’m sorry!”

“I’m okay. It must only work with certain people,” she says, blinking hard. She’s obviously still in pain, and my heart aches. I’m a disaster.

“It must have something to do with that weird connection you feel when you two shake hands,” Penny continues.

My eyes practically bulge out of my head. I look over at Baz, who looks slightly perplexed, and realize he might not feel it.

“Oh, Baz, you really should be going. I have a lesson with Penny!” I say, practically pushing him out the door. “I’ll write!” I yell after him and shut the door with a bang.

“I don’t know if he knows about that!” I say.

Penelope rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to be so embarrassed about everything, Simon.”

“I’m tired,” I lie, “sharing magic takes a lot out of me. I’d better lie down.”

I run for my bedroom before she can stop me.

* * *

**May 23rd**   
_Dear Baz,_

_Thank you for the help with the dragon. It would have been embarrassing if I’d let her burn down Agatha’s house._

_I also have to thank you for the forest, you know, keeping me from going off. Most people just cast spells on me immediately, but it was nice to be treated like a person and not a hazard for once. Thank you._

_It’s strange that you’re the only person I can share magic with. Penny was right when she said I can feel your magic when we shake hands. Can you feel mine? When you held my hands in the forest it was like your magic was burning, even though your hands were so cold._

_That’s another thing—goddamn! My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. You’re just so easy to talk to (even when you scowl at me)._

_I guess what I’m trying to say is, I like spending time with you. You clearly help me calm down, and I can clearly help you be even more powerful. We can do things better together. Maybe we are the right people to investigate the Mage._

_I was thinking, it might be nice to have an excuse for why you’re coming around so often. Just to make things less suspicious, of course._

_Baz, will you be my best man?_

_Warm regards,_

_Simon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cop a mouse - get a black eye  
> stable mind - someone devoted to horses  
> half-rats - partially intoxicated  
> bricky - brave, fearless
> 
> A note on "Off with his head" - apparently pre- _Alice in Wonderland_ , this phrase originated in Shakespeare! Given the time period, I figured _Alice_ wouldn't have made it into the lexicon quite yet, so Willy gets all the credit!


	3. Now I'm Covered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love letters, Pitch Manor, and an impending wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to [Ampithoe,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe) my lovely beta! 
> 
> If you can spot the bonus Taylor references in this chapter, I have _massive_ respect for you.
> 
> Don't forget that you can [listen along!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rKgxX8RUUgIBlz7wg7CfX). Check out [my tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/tagged/blaze-in-the-dark) for the track list as it's posted.
> 
> A minor cw for period-typical homophobia. It's internalized, and nothing graphic, but it's there, so I figured I should mention it.
> 
> See the end notes for Victorian slang!

The Mage has been here for days, ever since the day after the chimera attack. He’s proud of the way I handled myself, going right after the chimera, even with my limited training. I don’t think he’s too pleased that Baz landed the killing blow, though.

Everyone’s worried the Humdrum might attack at the wedding, but the Mage doesn’t seem to care. He says the Humdrum was just trying to kill _me_ , so everyone else should be okay. He hasn’t asked me what I think about that, though. He just drones on about the importance of the wedding.

Baz hasn’t been over since the Mage arrived, and he’s not too happy that I haven’t managed to get any information from the Mage. I think the Mage would slap me in the face if he knew I have been talking to Baz. I think he believes Baz just happened to be here the day of the attack, not that we’re _friends._

I wish Baz would come, though, because he’d be a great help in wedding planning. The Mage has tried to facilitate some of it, but his ideas are a bit out of fashion. He wants us to get married at the Wellbeloves’ home instead of the botanical garden, and he insists the tablecloths should be purple. Agatha isn’t having any of it. I just know Baz would be better help.

Which is why I’m taking advantage of the Mage being out on an investigation today and inviting Baz over. It almost feels wrong to lie to the Mage, but when has he ever kept me in the loop?

Baz is sitting on the sofa across from me, lost in a conversation with Agatha and Mrs. Wellbelove about the decorations. They’re going on and on about color choices, and I can’t be bothered.

Baz looks right at home on the velvet sofa. He’s always so perfectly laid out, his tie laying just so. His wavy hair isn’t slicked back today; instead, it flows freely. I hate how perfect he looks. My curls are impossible to wrangle, but even without effort, his hair is perfect.

He notices me looking at him and lifts his wineglass to me. I smile, taking a sip of my drink. I nearly spit it out when I notice that his ring has moved to his first finger— _he’s looking to meet someone._ What changed his mind? _Who_ changed his mind?

“What do you think, Snow?” Baz asks, turning to face me.

“About what?”

He and Agatha chuckle (that’s exactly what I need, the two of them getting on).

“I suggested that we get bouquets of flowers from the gardens for each table, to add to the atmosphere,” Agatha explains.

“It’d match the scenery beautifully,” Baz continues.

“Well, isn’t that just butter upon bacon?” I respond, trying not to be grumpy about their sudden friendship, as I am the one who invited Baz over in the first place.

Baz snorts.

“We’re getting married in a _botanical garden!_ ” I protest. “I hardly think we need more flowers.”

“Thank magic you brought me on, Snow. You’re a disaster.” Baz rolls his eyes and turns back to Agatha and her mother.

“Let’s practise our dance!” I say hurriedly, desperate for Agatha’s attention.

Mrs. Wellbelove claps her hands excitedly. “Brilliant idea! I’ll leave you to it!”

Baz stays glued to the couch, looking amused.

“There’s no music, so we’ll just have to pretend,” I say, taking Agatha’s hands.

She shows me the proper stance for dancing and tries to get me into a box step with her. Our stance is rigid, and we’re trying really hard not to get too close to each other. Even having our faces this close together is uncomfortable. I keep stepping on her toes.

“You’re meant to lead, Simon.” Agatha sounds bored.

“I don’t know how!”

In one swift movement, Baz is standing, tapping Agatha’s shoulder.

“Perhaps I could demonstrate,” he says, his voice velvety.

Agatha flushes immediately, and I drop her hands. I expect Baz to take her hands and draw her into a whirlwind dance routine. Instead, he grabs _my_ hands and sets us up, my hand on his shoulder and his around my waist.

“Someone has to show you how to do this,” he grumbles.

Agatha’s face falls. “I have to go get a drink of water,” she says, her voice unsteady. I think it’s pointless to point out that she has a glass sitting on the table in here.

Baz pulls me in tight, forcing me to stand up straighter. Every point of contact sizzles with magic.

He’s counting as we move, keeping us in time. His breath is hot next to my ear. Baz is so bloody infuriating! Showing off his perfect dance moves, coming here in his pristine outfit, looking at me with those bloody beautiful grey eyes.

_Looking at me with those bloody beautiful grey eyes._ I lock my eyes onto his, and something tugs at my stomach. Not magic this time, just something I can’t place. He’s looking at me so deeply, and I’m floating. (Not literally, although I think there is a spell for that.)

Nothing about this is magickal, but it still feels like it.

My eyes drift down to Baz’s lips, slightly parted. His jaw set, focused. His hair, falling into place like dominoes.

I gasp audibly and drop his hands.

_Oh no._

I think I fancy Baz Pitch.

“I uh, think I might go off. I need a minute!” I say, running out into the garden.

This is absolutely not possible. I hate him. I’m engaged to Agatha—men marry _women_.

Although, I have heard stories. Back in one of the orphanages, everyone suggested one of the staff fancied men. It wasn’t a compliment.

Still, I suppose it _is_ possible. If I were to fancy any man, I think it’d have to be Baz. He’s gorgeous, and I think I like arguing with him for the fun of it. I don’t _really_ hate him.

He’s met someone now, though, someone that made him feel like he wouldn’t be alone forever. Does he think about other men the way I think about him? Could that be why he thought he’d be alone, because he couldn’t marry someone he _truly_ loved, or am I all wrong, and he’s just picky?

“Ashamed of your dancing, Snow?” I jump when I hear Baz’s voice behind me.

“Never! I just needed some air.” My voice is wobbly despite my best efforts to calm myself.

“You’re quite terrible at it, really.”

I don’t dare turn around to see him smirk. I know I’d turn bright red. I can’t do this. Am I crazy? I have to get _married_. I have to save the world of Mages!

He walks in front of me, placing a hand on my arm. I inhale sharply, pushing his arm away to avoid further embarrassment.

“No need to be ashamed, you’re just as bad at dancing as you are at everything else,” he says.

“Do you really hate me this much?”

Baz stops to consider for a moment. “I hate you quite a bit, actually.”

“You never think nice things about me?” I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but I’m also not sure I can stop myself.

“Hm, no. Mostly violent things.”

“I think nice things about _you_ all the time!” I shout.

Baz raises an eyebrow. I’m terrified of what he’ll say next, but we’re interrupted when Lady Salisbury walks out into the garden.

“Oh hello, Simon!” she says, settling into one of the patio chairs.

I give Baz a look that I hope says, _buckle up_.

She’s looking out into the garden and down the hill to the brook below.

“My Lucy would have loved it here,” she says softly.

The death of her daughter must have hit her hard, because it’s all she ever talks about. She’s always got the morbs.

“If only that Davy hadn’t taken her away from us.”

She’s basically talking to the wind at this point. Suddenly, she turns to face us.

“Mr. Pitch!” Her eyes widen as if she’d just now noticed he was standing here.

“Good morning, Lady Salisbury,” Baz says, ever the gentleman.

A smile creeps across her face. “You remind me so much of your mother.”

Baz looks as though all the wind has been knocked out of him.

“I’m afraid we must be off. It was lovely to see you!” I say hurriedly, dragging Baz inside.

“When should we meet again? The Mage isn’t leaving since it’s so close to the wedding, so I don’t know when you can come around again.” I try to get Baz’s attention, but he’s still standing there looking like he’s seen a ghost. “Baz?”

His eyes lock on mine with certainty, with purpose. “Come to Pitch Manor.”

“Why would I do that?” Going to Baz’s family home seems like a big step in our relationship. Our _friendship_ , I mean. Whatever it is, it’s making my mouth all dry.

“I know a great tailor in Hampshire, and as your best man, I am in charge of your preparations.”

It’s just now occurred to me that the Mage will have to see Baz at some point because he’s my _best man._ I’m such an idiot.

Even still, this might be a good idea. We can talk in private at Baz’s surely enormous home, and can hopefully break some ground on the Mage stuff. At this point, all we’ve talked about is what I already know, which is basically nothing. We spend the rest of the time we’re together bickering.

I have to wonder, given my newfound realization, whether I’ve been bickering with Baz or flirting with him. I’m not sure which is worse.

“That sounds fine,” I say, pushing down the myriad of emotions trying to break the surface.

Baz looks uncharacteristically pleased. “I’ll send for you tomorrow. We can do your first fitting, chat a bit, and then you can come back in a week for your final fitting.”

That’s a lot of time alone with Baz.

I just nod and send him on his way, afraid to open my mouth and say something I’ll regret.

I watch him leave, trying not to look like a wife watching her husband leave for war. When he throws me a glance over his shoulder, I swear he’s smiling.

* * *

I arrive at Pitch Manor the next afternoon and find myself standing on the front stoop, mouth agape.

The house is just as big as I thought it’d be and twice as menacing. If I had to pick a house for a vampire to live in, this would be the one.

Baz opens the door and sneers. “Close your mouth, Snow, you look ridiculous.”

“Nice to see you too!” I grumble.

The inside of the house is impeccably decorated. Agatha’s house is nice, sure, but it looks lived in, well-loved. This house looks like a diorama.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, standing awkwardly on the rug in front of the door.

“We can head over to the tailor now, then discuss business here, and have you home before dinner,” Baz says simply.

I roll my eyes at the mention of “home,” as if I have one of those. Honestly, I feel most at home in an argument with Baz, following the well-trod path of our back-and-forth. I could walk that path with my eyes closed. I think Baz could too.

My stomach lurches at that thought.

The trip to the tailor is uneventful, aside from the fact that Baz is there the entire time, watching as the tailor takes measurements (why do they have to measure _everywhere?_ ). In typical Baz fashion, he makes constant comments, trying to get me to pick the most luxurious fabrics and fussing about the fit.

Now we’re in the forest (does every rich magician in England have a forest behind their home?), because Baz insisted that we talk away from the eager ears of his family. I’m sure his house is big enough to hold the entire royal family, but apparently his meddling little sister would try to infiltrate our conversation no matter where we hid.

It’s warm out, the air finally losing its chill as we approach June. The wedding is in June, but I’m trying not to think about that, especially with Baz standing before me.

He’s leaning against a tree, all nonchalant. I think he’s talking about the Mage’s private records, but I’m more concerned with the view. I love how Baz talks when he’s passionate about something. It’s like he could go on for hours, forgetting that I’m even here.

I’m sitting on the forest floor. The ground’s a bit wet, which I probably should have considered before sitting down. I’m just trying not to think about this situation.

As if I weren’t enough of an outcast already, I’m in love with a _bloke._

“Are you even listening, Snow?” Baz grumbles, waving a hand in front of my face.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with wedding thoughts, is all,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie. I’m finding it hard to care about the Mage investigation when I’m dealing with a personal crisis. “Can we postpone the investigation until afterwards ?”

“Ah, yes. Can’t bother the happy couple,” Baz drawls.

I sigh. “Don’t do this.”

“I find it difficult to feign concern for your petty problems.” He turns away from me, looking out into the forest beyond.

“I’m not happy,” I say, hoping honesty will get him out of his shell. “I don’t want to get married.”

Baz turns around, an eyebrow already raised. “What would Wellbelove think?”

“I think she’d say she wants to run away with _you_ ,” I say, my anger getting the best of me.

“Wellbelove isn’t in the picture for me.” His lips are drawn in a thin line, but looking closely, I can see that the corner of his mouth is twitching.

“Oh, come on, Baz! You switched your ring for her!” I’m not sure I believe that, but I just want to know who made him change his mind.

For one moment—just one _miniscule_ moment—his expression is pained. Soon it’s returned to its usual sneer. “Jealous?”

“Yes!” I shout, though I’m not sure which one of them I’m jealous of.

Baz sits down in front of me, surprising me. My magic lurches at the closeness.

“Wellbelove isn’t in the picture for me,” he repeats.

A strange band of emotions is starting to overtake me. If I’d ever spent time thinking about my feelings , I might be able to recognize which ones they are.

Sitting this close, I can see the startling grey of his eyes, the smooth lines of his hair.

“Baz, why didn’t you want to marry anyone?” My heart is in my throat. It’s almost like a Humdrum attack—the air is dry and empty.

“Snow,” Baz starts.

“No,” I interrupt, taking his hand. “No. Call me Simon.”

My heart is beating so fast that I can practically feel it in my hand. Baz’s hand doesn’t seem to have a heartbeat, but it is shaking (and cold).

He looks so sad, so drained. _Let me help,_ I think. Even like this, sad and lost on the forest floor, he looks beautiful.

“Simon,” Baz says, squeezing my hand. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

I certainly do _not_ know the answer to that question. Although, if he’s not interested in women, it would make sense that he’s turned away every match Mrs. Wellbelove and his stepmother have picked out for him. _Wellbelove isn’t in the picture for me._ Could that be because _no women_ are in the picture for him?

I take in a shaky breath. Our magic dances together between our palms, trying to say what we can’t.

This is mad, absolutely mad. I think this is all just a bad dream. Magic, the Mage, _Baz_. Just some sick fantasy I’ve dreamed up but can never have.

If I could have this dream, what would I want? Sure, the marriage needs to go on, but what about _this?_ The energy flowing between us right now. The energy that has been building up over the past few weeks.

I run my finger over his golden ring. It feels wrong to see my own engagement ring sitting beside it.

“Did you meet someone?” I ask, my voice small.

Baz’s eyes are glassy. “I met you.”

My breath catches in my throat. For a moment, I think of everything we could have—picnics and kisses and firesides and cottages. There are so many reasons why none of that is possible. My heart sinks.

“Don’t say that,” I whisper.

Baz jolts back and stands up, trying to brush the dirt off his trousers.

“You’d better be going if you’re to make it home for dinner,” he says, his voice flat.

“Don’t call it home,” I say, my voice trembling.

“Not to worry, Snow. You and Wellbelove can go back to playing house,” Baz says coolly.

“ _Baz_ ”

“Come along, Snow.”

I trail behind him, wishing there was something I could do.

* * *

**June 1st**   
_Baz,_

_Please accept my sincerest apologies for what occurred yesterday. I am truly sorry if I overstepped a boundary in our conversation, and I’ll never speak of it again if you forbid it._

_I suppose you could say I couldn’t stop you from putting roots in my dreamland. I never should have let the roots break the surface of the ground and see the light of day._

_Yours very respectfully,_

_Simon_

**June 2nd**   
_Dear Simon,_

_You needn’t apologise._

_You speak of roots. You should know you’ve done the same to me. It’s as though I am a house of stone. Your ivy grew, and now I’m covered in you._

_Your sincere friend,_

_Baz_

**June 3rd**   
_Dear Baz,_

_I think you’re still a bit of a house of stone. The more I see you, the closer I get to being allowed inside._

_What are we to do? I’m engaged, Baz. This wedding is meant to protect the World of Mages. Yet even when she’s in the room, your grey eyes are all I wish to see._

_The Mage is already unhappy that I’ve made you my best man, but if I called off the wedding...I don’t think I have a choice._

_Yours very sincerely,_

_Simon_

**June 4th**   
_Dear Simon,_

_You do have a choice. You made a choice in the woods that day._

_I understand that you need to carry on with the wedding—it is your duty. I just wish I could save you from all this._

_Yours ever,_

_Baz_

**June 5th**   
_Baz,_

_You don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?_

_Simon_

**June 6th**   
_Dearest Simon,_

_I suppose I would._

_Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die. Those Windermere peaks look like the perfect place to hide._

_Yours heartily and affectionately,_

_Baz_

**June 7th**   
_Baz,_

_If only it were possible._

_If only any of this were truly possible. It’s almost as though you want to be cursed, resigned to wish for a life you want but can’t have. It must be due to a fatal flaw that you are so willing to throw everything away just for this—for us._

_Simon_

**June 8th**   
_Simon,_

_I’m writing to remind you that your final fitting is Tuesday morning. I think it would be wise for you to come to Hampshire tomorrow afternoon so that we can go straight to the tailor in the morning._

_Best,_

_Baz_

* * *

Something shifted in that last letter, but I don’t know what I did to cause it. I read it over and over again as I sit in the carriage on my way to Hampshire, hoping that something will jump out at me between the lines.

Now that we’re nearer to the reality of the wedding, it’s almost as though Baz is less inclined to keep up whatever’s been going on between us. I guess I did call it my “dreamland,” so why should any of this belong to reality? These letters have been a whirlwind, each one moving faster than the last. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I arrive.

As the carriage stops in front of the manor, my magic leaps beneath my skin.

I’m surprised I don’t fall over on my walk to the door. Taking a deep breath, I knock with shaking hands.

“Snow.” Baz’s face looks impassive. So we _are_ going back to ignoring this.

He motions for me to follow him inside and wordlessly shows me to my room. This house seems to be filled with endless hallways. My room is dark, and the bed is huge. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a bed so big. It’s no wonder Baz is a snob; he’s been living like the bloody Queen.

I set down my suitcase and look out the window. The room looks out onto the expansive grounds, and I recognize the forest that sits on one side of it. We’d talked about the Mage there—I’d taken his hand there.

I turn around, swallowing hard. “Baz.”

He’s already heading out of the room. I run to catch up with him, grabbing at his sleeve. “ _Baz._ ”

He sighs, turning to face me with his arms crossed. “What, Snow?”

“You called me Simon before!” I roll my eyes at him.

“I certainly did not.”

“Are we just going to pretend nothing ever happened?”

Before he can respond, the door swings open, nearly taking us out in its wake.

“Baz! Mum says you two have to come down for dinner!” The voice comes from someone below us. She looks remotely related to Baz, though her skin isn’t at all grey.

“Mordelia, what did I say about knocking?” Baz asks.

She rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “This isn’t your room!”

“That’s irrelevant,” he says, waving her off. “We’ll be down in a moment.”

She leaves, rolling her eyes once more.

“I can see why you called her a menace,” I laugh.

Baz says nothing, but leaves the room, heading (hopefully) for dinner.

“Am I meeting your other siblings too? Do I get their names now?” I ask.

“No.”

“Can I guess them?”

“Merlin, Snow, I’m not Rumpelstiltskin.”

I’m having trouble believing this is the man who wrote _love letters_ to me. I follow him angrily to the dinner table, though all my anger subsides when I see the spread that’s been laid out.

Baz’s father is eyeing me up like I’m a steak. Maybe we didn’t think this through, considering I _am_ their number two enemy. This house is so big that they probably have hundreds of places to hide my body.

Baz’s stepmother is nice enough. She keeps offering me extra helpings (which I take, out of both politeness and delight) and asking me questions about my life before magic. She seems so concerned and kind. How did she get involved with this cold family?

Once there’s finally no more food to be eaten (thanks to me), Baz and I head to the study. He’s told his father that we’ve got wedding planning to do, but I’m sure it’s just a ruse.

“Alright, Snow, which fabric do you prefer for your tie?” he says once we enter the study.

I’m about to scoff at him and tell him to stop pretending, but then I see the rows of fabrics lined up on the desk before us.

“You were serious about the wedding planning!”

“It’s at the end of the month,” Baz says matter-of-factly.

His eyes look empty, like he’s not enjoying this even though he gets to make fun of me.

“Baz, you don’t need to do this, if it’s too hard,” I say, my voice soft.

He ignores me. “This blue would bring out your eyes nicely, or we have this deep red.”

I sigh, figuring it’s best just to go along with him. These choices need to be made anyway. We spend the rest of the daylight hours choosing last minute items. Every interaction is stilted, and Baz is doing his best not to get close to me.

My heart aches for him in a way it never has for Agatha. I didn’t know it was _supposed_ to feel like this. All I want to do is be close to him, to take his hand and attempt to ease his pain. It’s almost like what I said to him when I asked him to be my best man. My pain fits in the palm of his freezing hand—could _his_ pain fit in the palm of my warm hand?

He shows me again to my room, saying goodnight without meeting my eyes.

I sink deep into the bed, happy for its softness. This is nicer than any bed I’ve ever slept in, even at the Wellbeloves’.

I’m just settling into sleep when I hear it. Sounds fill the air, and I immediately feel as though I’m not alone.

I spring out of bed, running across the hall to Baz’s room. I’m sure I look ridiculous as I burst into his room, eyes wild.

“Your house is haunted!” I shout.

Baz is reading calmly in a chair next to a fireplace. Even his bedroom is perfectly decorated. I thought perhaps he would be allowed to show some personality in such a private space. There’s a giant four poster bed, even bigger than the bed in my room. It has creatures etched into it, looking every bit as foreboding as you’d imagine Baz Pitch’s bed to be.

“You’ve met the wraiths?” he says, not even looking up from his book. He’s reading by firelight, but not the fire roaring next to him. He’s got a flame in his palm, illuminating the page before him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The wraiths,” he repeats, smiling now. “If you’re really so frightened, you can sleep in here.”

“Why would that make any difference?” I say, my voice shaking. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s out of fear of the wraiths and not about being in the same room with Baz overnight.

“They don’t come in here. They’re afraid of me.” He’s got a wicked smile going now, lit ominously by the fire in his hand. It’s work not to crane my neck to see if he’s got fangs.

I nod, lying down on the couch across from Baz’s chair. It’s soft and plush, not too different from the bed I just left, really.

“Well, goodnight,” I say awkwardly, willing sleep to come immediately.

It doesn’t, but the sound of Baz’s breathing is oddly calming. Before I know it, he’s lulled me to sleep.

***

When I wake up, it’s still dark out. Baz isn’t sitting in his chair anymore, so he must have gone to bed.

It’s oddly quiet, though.

“Baz?” I call out. The room feels gigantic and endless, and I don’t love that I might be left alone with the wraiths again.

I get up and walk cautiously over to my room. There’s a good chance he slept there to avoid me. I find my room empty and lean my head against the window, sighing. I wish Baz would stop running away from me.

I lift my head up and look out into the back yard. I can barely see it, but there’s a light in the forest, not unlike the fire in Baz’s palm earlier. I rush out of the room, determined to run straight to the light.

Well, I try to, but I get lost in the house. By the time I’ve finally found an exit, the light is out. I don’t dare try casting a spell of my own, so I try to find him by sound.

“Baz!” I call again and again.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and the moon sends enough slivers of light through the trees that I can find my way. I head for the spot we sat in the last time we talked out here, hoping to find him there.

As I approach, I see a figure sitting on the ground, hunched over something. I call for my blade under my breath, just in case.

“Baz.”

The figure turns their head over their shoulder to look at me.

It’s Baz, fangs bared. His tongue darts over his lip to catch a bead of blood that threatened to fall onto his pristine white shirt. His eyes are wild, almost pained, as he registers that it’s me.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’ll let you finish your meal, just come get me when you’re done.”

I go sit up against a tree a few yards away. I should probably be more surprised or disgusted right now (I did just catch Baz draining a deer), but I’m mostly sad. He looked at me with such fear, and I never want him to feel like that again.

There’s no reason to be surprised, anyway, because I was already certain that he was a vampire. I don’t think I need to worry about being his next midnight snack, since he didn’t kill me while I was asleep in his room.

After a few more minutes, Baz finally comes to get me, slumping against the tree beside me.

“I don’t care,” I say immediately.

He looks at me, his eyes full of shame. “You should.”

“I don’t,” I say again. “I already found you out, really.”

I move closer to him, taking his hand just as I did the last time we were here. “Your hands are really cold, remember?” I puff out my chest a bit. “I spotted your fangs weeks ago.” (I unfortunately did _not,_ but it’s not for lack of trying).

He smiles softly.

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I say, squeezing his hand. “What I do care about, though, is why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“We’re doomed,” Baz says simply.

I sigh. “That doesn’t mean we don’t try. I think I’m doomed for this fight with the Humdrum, but I think I owe it to you all to try.” That’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to really think that. It’s true, though. I’m pretty underqualified and outmatched.

“What does trying look like?” His face looks more full, and he’s actually, really blushing now.

I cup his cheek in my hand, letting my eyes roam his face. His lips, his eyes, his too-tall nose. I let my eyes linger on each feature, each facet of him, trying to tell him how much I adore all of it. I almost feel as though I’m ablaze; it’s something akin to magic. _I didn’t know it was supposed to feel like this._

I’m leaning forward and I think I might kiss him. (Which would be improper, since we’re not courting, but isn’t kissing blokes improper, full stop? What does one more impropriety matter?) He’s smiling and looking at me like he might just want to kiss me too. We’re both leaning forward, our magic static in the air between us.

The moment before I’d planned to close them, my eyes catch on a bag left on the ground behind us. A stack of paper peeks out from inside.

“What’s that?” I ask, jutting my chin in the direction of the papers.

Baz’s eyes grow wide. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He definitely knows what I mean. I get up, pushing away from him. The papers are covered in writing that looks like the Mage’s.

“What are these?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.

“Forbidden rituals. I think the Mage was planning something he shouldn’t have been,” Baz says calmly.

Fuck calmness. “Where did you get these papers?” He doesn’t answer. “Baz, where did you get these papers?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Why does it matter if I took them from him?” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s clearly doing something illegal!”

“I said _I_ didn’t want to do anything illegal, Baz! You should have kept me out of this.”

“I was trying to, thank you very much.” He crosses his arms.

“You should have told me!”

“I thought you wanted to be left out.”

“Oh, fuck off. You know what I meant.” I run a frenzied hand through my hair. “My whole life is on fire.”

Baz rolls his eyes.

“It is, Baz! This thing between us, it’s a mess. It’s a fire and _you started it._ ” I shout. “You started it!”

“Oh, really? I started this? What about the war that’s been brewing for years? The reason we _should_ be enemies.” He’s stopped shouting, and his voice is eerily calm. “We should never have done this.”

“You mean the war over your family’s elitist ideas? Do you really believe all that stuff, Baz, or do you just miss your mum?” I regret it the moment I say it.

Baz’s eyes are blazing. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown a fireball at me yet. “This is a _war._ This is a fight, it’s _always_ been a fight with you. It’s the goddamn fight of my _life_ —of _our lives_ —and you started it!”

“ _You_ started it!”

“Stop acting like a child.”

**_“Fuck off!”_** I say, my voice filled with magic. Baz goes flying back toward the house.

I collapse to the ground, trying to keep my breathing even. I can’t go off in Baz’s backyard, even if I’m mad at him.

Once I’ve finally calmed down, I go back inside. It’s still a labyrinth, and I’m lucky I left my door open, or I don’t think I would have found it. I suppose I still need to get my suit tomorrow, especially since Baz definitely hates me now.

I lie in bed for hours, but I don’t fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> butter upon bacon - too extravagant  
> got the morbs - temporary melancholy


	4. Goddamn Fight of my Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding, revenge, and wings.

The ride to the tailor’s shop is excruciating. We sit in silence in the carriage, taking great pains to avoid even glancing at each other.

Unlike the last time I was fitted for clothing, Baz has absolutely nothing to say. He just broods in the corner of the shop. I think I look rather nice, though. We chose a beautiful grey fabric for the suit, and it’s refreshing to finally have clothes that actually fit me.

After we leave, Baz has the coachman drop me off straight away, even though the Wellbelove residence is far out of the way for him. I think he just couldn’t stand to see me much longer.

I manage to make it through tea with Agatha and her mother by smiling politely. My mind is absolutely stuck on last night, and I’m climbing the walls by the time Penny arrives for our lesson.

I have to tell her everything, even though most of it shouldn’t be shared with another soul. I trust Penelope more than anyone. Even if I didn’t trust her, I’d have to tell _someone_. My magic has been itching beneath my skin all day, a constant reminder of what happened.

It’s been work to keep my mind empty all day (though that usually isn’t a problem), so the moment Penny enters the study and closes the door behind her, I go off. Not literally. I go off with _words_.

I tell her the whole story—the letters, the forest, the stolen pages, the near kiss. Penny’s face contorts perfectly from confusion to excitement to anger as I spin the tale.

I think I filled up half our lesson time with my story, and once I’m done, Penelope flops into one of the armchairs.

“Merlin and Morgana, Simon, give a lady a warning before you launch into a story like that.” She looks exhausted just from listening.

“It’s been a difficult day!” I shout.

“What’re we going to do about Baz?” Penelope asks, practically sighing.

“What do you mean?” My voice comes out a little gravelly.

She sits up straight in the chair. “I mean, you love him, don’t you? He did go behind your back, but if the Mage was doing what Baz thinks he was…” she trails off.

“It’s a bit soon to talk about ‘love,’ don’t you think?” I ask, a little jolted by her use of the word. “Wait, you aren’t put off by the two blokes thing?”

“We’re _mages_ , Simon. Stranger things have happened,” she says, shrugging. “My roommate at Watford was half pixie.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“We’re already different from the world. We shouldn’t focus on what makes us different from each other.” She leans back in her seat. “Not everyone thinks that way, but it’s what they try to teach us at Watford.

“What was Baz like there?” I ask. I think Penny, Agatha, and Baz were all at Watford at the same time, though none of them were friends.

“He seemed a lot like he seems now, very brooding,” Penny says thoughtfully. “Though, he has seemed less lonely since you two started talking. I suppose it makes sense.”

I groan. I was feeling less lonely too, until he stole from the Mage. I’m not sure what about it makes me so mad—it’s not as though I have to defend the Mage’s honour or anything. The Mage barely defends mine! When one of the Families says something awful about me, he usually strokes his moustache and says _they will see_.

Maybe I’m jealous that Baz did research without me. (Not that we ever _did_ research together.)

“It’s all such a mess,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“What if the Mage really _did_ some illegal rituals?”

“Baz stole from him!”

“Is stealing from a criminal really stealing?” She says it like it’s simply a philosophical question and not the problem before us.

“Penelope!”

“All right!” she sighs. “I’m just saying, what would you do if Baz were right?”

That’d probably be reason enough to forgive him. Maybe all the wars would go away if the Mage was exposed. We wouldn’t have so much to fight about, and we could just run away together. It’s all so much more romantic than the wedding next week promises to be.

“I have to get married,” I say.

“I _suppose_ you do,” Penny says, not sounding too sure.

* * *

Even more guests have arrived for the wedding. I don’t know that there are enough rooms in the house to fit all of them. Every room seems to be filled with church-bells gossiping about how strange I am. I don’t know how much more I can take.

It’s been four days without so much as a letter from Baz. I can’t be sure he’ll even show his face at the wedding on Monday.

The worries about the Humdrum are only growing. Yesterday he sent flibbertigibbets, which turned out to be more of a nuisance than anything else. My **dead in the air** was successful in bringing them down, although it _did_ kill a few birds as well. The Mage says not to worry, and that my magic will become more focused the more I train. I’m not sure I believe him.

Nearly every lesson with Penny has ended in failure. I almost always set something on fire or put emphasis on the wrong syllable, leading to some horrible unintended outcome. I’m not sure why I even have magic—I am an _orphan_ , after all, and everyone says there _are_ no magickal orphans—and I’m not sure I want it.

I’m not sure how I’m meant to throw off anything the Humdrum can send me when I can’t even warm a cup of tea. A chimera, flibbertigibbets, what's next? A dragon? My sword might work beautifully in that case, though.

Now that the Mage is here, he and I train in sword fighting almost every day. It’s the most time I’ve spent with him since I met him, though he doesn’t talk to me much during our practices. It’s as if he wants to keep everything locked away.

Despite everyone’s worries about the Humdrum, the Mage insists the wedding is safe. I think he’s just trying to convince himself. I think he believes that I can handle anything, but not because I’m talented. No, he thinks I can fix any problem because I can blow up.

I’m not sure why going off on some creature the Humdrum sends at my own _wedding_ is beneficial, but the Mage doesn’t seem to care. We’ve been doing an awful lot of planning just for me to blow the whole thing up.

The last few days before the wedding blur into a flurry of planning and lessons with Penny. She’s been coming over more frequently so that I’m hopefully more well equipped to handle anything that might happen. (It’s not really working, but it’s kind of her to try.)

Agatha and I are talking less than ever. We sit together and choose the finishing touches—cake flavors and party favors—but we don’t actually talk to each other. I’m beginning to think that Baz might be giving us _both_ reservations about this marriage.

The night before the wedding, I find Agatha out in the garden, looking over the grounds. The Welbeloves’ backyard is beautiful, and I can’t help but be a little sad that we’ll be leaving it behind. The Mage has already set about finding us a house, but I doubt it will be anything as beautiful as this.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soft.

Agatha turns around, wiping at her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Big day tomorrow.” I sound like an arse, but I don’t know what else to say.

“Mm.” She’s turned back to the scenery now, and I move to stand beside her, trying to catch a glimpse of the brook flowing at the bottom of the hill.

“I’m going to try my hardest for you,” I say. It’s true; I want this to work out as well as it can.

Even though we aren’t in love, I still feel terribly guilty about the business with Baz. It’s better that we aren’t talking now, anyway. I’m sure I could learn to be happy in a posh life with Agatha.

She doesn’t say anything, but when she looks at me, her eyes are filled with tears.

* * *

The botanical garden is beautiful. There are all sorts of flowers and plants that I’ve never seen before. I wish I were here under different circumstances so that I could walk around and admire each petal and leaf.

Instead, Mrs. Wellbelove is rushing me through the gardens to the solarium where the wedding will be held. This room is gorgeous too—lots of big, leafy plants.

“Help Dr. Wellbelove with the chairs, would you, Simon?” It’s not much of a question, because Mrs. Wellbelove hurries away as soon as she says it.

I help set up the chairs in neat rows. Apparently the women are already getting ready, despite the wedding not being scheduled for another three hours.

After nearly an hour and a half of work, I set the last chair in place and set my hands on my hips, satisfied. I glance toward the door and my jaw nearly drops when I see who’s entered. It’s Baz, wearing a stunning red suit and a cool look on his face.

All the rage I’d been harboring nearly subsides seeing him like this. He looks amazing, but his face is also a harsh reminder of that night.

He catches my eye and smirks. I hate him.

I march myself to one of the rooms set aside for us to get dressed in and sit down against the door. This is all absolutely mad.

I stand up, trying to shake off my nerves. I put on my suit hastily, anger distorting each movement. I’m torn between feeling terrified that Baz will knock on the door and wishing he would just come in and kiss me. (This is mad— _I’m_ mad.)

Sighing, I put on my shoes and stand in front of the mirror. For a moment, I can see myself how I’m meant to be. In front of me is the happy groom, ready to sweep his beloved off her feet. Inside, I’m about ready for _Baz_ to sweep me off _my_ feet.

As if I’d summoned it, there’s a knock at the door. I startle, trying to get my hands steady as I open the door.

“Simon, I’m sorry.” It’s _Agatha_.

I feel my mouth hanging agape and do my best to shut it.

“Come in,” I say, closing the door behind her.

Agatha is in her wedding dress, a beautiful white gown adorned with lace. It practically sparkles (and it might actually be magickally sparkling, as far as I can tell). What little make-up she was wearing is now running down her cheeks.

“Simon, I’m sorry,” she says again. “I can’t go through with this.”

Is that why Baz is here, to finally win her over? Sure, that doesn’t line up with recent information I’ve learned about him, but I still wouldn’t be surprised.

“Is it Baz?” I ask. In the past, I would have thought I was jealous that Baz got to be with Agatha. Today, I’m certain that it’s the other way around.

“Yes,” she confesses, “but not in the way you think.”

She sits down in the nearest chair, even though I’ve dumped this morning’s clothes on it.

“I’m listening,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.

“Having Baz around so much was...tempting.” She looks a bit like she’s agonizing over her words. If things were different, I might admit that I found him tempting, too. “In the end, I realized that I didn’t like _him_ , I just liked the _idea_ of having a choice. Of not signing my future away at this wedding.”

I liked the idea of having a choice, too. Though I suppose I did (I _do_ ) like Baz, too.

“You deserve a say in your life,” I say, half to myself.

“I’m taking one of the horses, and I’m going to the country. I’ve heard you can get paid to take care of horses, which sounds like a _dream_. I’ll find a place to live, and I can just ride around and be _free_ ,” she says, determined.

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re oddly okay with this.”

“I’d like to have a say in my life as well.”

Agatha leans forward in her chair, her eyes wild. “We don’t just deserve a say, we deserve to be in the damn saddle, holding the reins.”

I had no idea until now how bricky Agatha was, though I’m not sure she did, either.

“You go, I’ll let everyone know,” I smile.

She stands quickly, taking my hands. “Good luck, Simon.” Then she kisses my cheek and leaves.

I’m expecting to feel relieved, but it’s hard when the fate of the magickal world still remains on my shoulders. I take a deep breath and leave the room, unsure of how to break the news to everyone.

Immediately, I’m stopped in my tracks at the sight of Baz, who’s standing in the hallway talking to a woman. She looks vaguely like him: dark hair (except one white streak) and a scary brooding presence. When he notices I’m there, Baz not-so-subtly looks me up and down. He smirks.

“Nice to see the suit fits you, Snow,” he says, cutting the woman off.

“It’s over,” I say.

Baz’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s over?”

“The wedding.”

The woman next to him looks pleased.

“Simon, this is my aunt Fiona,” Baz explains.

I smile politely, trying to pretend I’m not losing it inside. What will I tell the Mage? What does this mean for the Families? What does it mean for _Baz_?

“So no wedding, huh? That’ll piss Davy off.” Fiona breaks into a wicked grin.

“Who’s Davy?” I ask, though it’s far from the point, really.

“The Mage. It’s his real name,” she says, making a disgusted face as she says it. “I hate calling him by that stupid title of his.”

Baz looks as if Fiona’s just given him an idea. “I’ve got to go,” he says, pushing past us and running off.

“What was that all about?” Penny comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I don’t know where Baz is going, but the wedding’s off.”

“Oh, Simon, I’m sorry,” Penny says, her voice soft. “This is good for you and Baz, though, right?”

I nudge her, jutting my chin in the direction of Baz’s aunt. She raises an eyebrow at us (the gesture apparently runs in the family).

I’m not sure what to do next when we hear shouting from the main area. Penny and I take off toward the sound, and I call for my sword just in case.

When we arrive in the main area of the solarium, Baz is shouting at the Mage. I’m standing near the door to the room, dumbfounded. Nearly all the guests have assembled now, and all eyes are locked on Baz and the Mage.

“Tell them what you did, Davy!” Baz spits.

“All this coming from the _Pitch boy_. Nothing you say can be believed! Everyone knows you and your family don’t think me worthy of my position.” The Mage’s voice is full of rage. I’m worried he’ll turn violent.

“I think you’re unworthy of your position because of _what you did_ , not how powerful you are. Those were my mother’s ideals, not mine.” Baz’s eyes flit around the room nervously. When he finds me standing at the back of the room, his face softens.

The Mage notices me, too. “Simon! Get him out of here.”

“I want to hear what he has to say.” I stand my ground.

“ _Tell them what you did_ ,” Baz booms.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” The Mage looks about ready to catch fire.

 _I’m_ about ready to catch fire. This is all too much to think about—I might go off.

“The illegal rituals, the dragon’s blood. The _child_.” Baz is unmoved by the Mage’s fury.

“Quiet!”

 _ **“Don’t sell me a dog!”**_ Baz shouts.

The entire room gasps. One of the first things Penny taught me was that truth spells are illegal. What will they do to Baz for this? Will they find out that he’s a vampire in the process? Can they kill him for that?

“Those rituals were intended to create the Greatest Mage. Lucy Salisbury and I had a child.” He turns to me. “It was you, Simon.”

I can’t breathe. All those years bouncing between orphanages. All those years feeling alone and lost. Even now, I spent months being told I was a magickal anomaly. All this time I had a family. I want to cry out or attack him. There’s no time. He’s still going on.

“But we failed. You are a cracked vessel. You aren’t enough. Lucy wasn’t enough.”

Lady Salisbury is sobbing now. In all the confusion, it takes me a few moments to connect the dots. _Her_ Lucy. _If only that Davy hadn’t taken her away from us._

Baz is similarly affected, though he seems prepared to kill the Mage in front of all of us. The Mage seems prepared to fight back.

It’s when I’m charging at the Mage with my sword that the air leaves the room—the _magic_ leaves the room.

Someone flings the door open at the back of the solarium, and the feeling worsens. It looks like there’s something far back in the garden. Baz shoves the Mage to the ground and we take off toward it. Penny’s already trying to keep everyone calm.

I’m not sure if he’s coming with me to make sure I don’t do something stupid or as moral support. Either way, it’s nice to have him by my side.

“Baz, I’m sorry about everything!” I yell to him as we run. The thing we’re running toward is a good ways away, and I want to say it while I can.

“Snow, this is hardly the time,” Baz grumbles.

“I just wanted you to know.”

We slow as we reach the clearing. This area of the garden seems to be specifically for trees, and we’re surrounded by all different types. In the middle of the clearing is a flower garden. Standing atop the mound of flowers is me.

Well, not _me_. Me when I was eleven. He’s skinny and has a red ball in his hand.

“It’s me,” I whisper, not even meaning to say it out loud.

I can feel Baz looking at me in horror, but I don’t have an explanation for him.

It’s rare that I feel empty of magic, but it’s all completely gone. Instantly, I know what we’re facing.

“Show your true self, Humdrum!” I bellow, trying not to sound scared.

He looks up at me with a wicked grin. “This is my true self.”

“He said _show yourself_ ,” Baz growls.

“I’m you, you’re me. It’s fairly simple.” The Humdrum takes a step closer.

“I don’t understand.” I’m starting to panic now. It can’t be.

“I’m what’s left when you’re done,” he smiles.

Baz stands up straighter at that. “So every time Simon goes off...you, what, take the magic?”

He’s figuring this out much faster than I am.

“Essentially.”

What I’m hearing is that the Greatest Mage is also the cause of the greatest _threat_ to the World of Mages. I’m the cause of this entire problem. The fear, the losses of magic. All because I couldn’t learn control.

I look the Humdrum straight in the eyes, glaring so hard that I’m practically burning a hole in him. I wish I could. He smiles that stupid, sick smile at me and I growl.

I might be the problem, but I’m also the solution.

“You want my magic? Then take it.”

I will my magic to come to the surface, and somehow, it obeys. I open myself up, just like I did with Baz that day. I let my magic flow and give it all to the Humdrum.

He’s laughing wickedly now and glowing a bright green. It’s awfully loud, the sound of my magic leaving my body—or perhaps the wind has picked up; I can’t tell.

I make out Baz yelling over all the commotion. “Simon! Simon, stop!”

The Humdrum glows even brighter. I think my magic is almost gone. Who am I without it? Will this make the Humdrum go away? Will it fix anything?

“Simon, please!” Baz is full on screaming now.

He’s standing next to me now, taking my hand. The flow seems to slow down and take time along with it. I turn to Baz. His eyes are pleading. It seems to be taking every ounce of strength he has. I pull him in closer to me, and our faces are just inches apart.

I expect the kiss to be fast and desperate, but we kiss as though we have all the time in the world. As though the Humdrum isn’t still sucking out my magic, as though what we’re doing couldn’t get us in trouble. Baz gets a grip on my hair, smiling into the kiss in spite of everything.

If my pain fits in the palm of his freezing hand, his cold mouth is melting my pain away. We break apart, my magic still flowing out of me.

I need to get us out of here. No sooner have I thought that than wings come sprouting out of my back. _Finally, a dragon._

I push all of my magic into the Humdrum, and I scoop Baz up in my arms and fly above the canopy. For a moment, the Humdrum looks relieved. My last thought before it’s all gone is _I wish we could run away._

* * *

We’re standing beside a lake in the next instant. Baz is still wrapped in my arms, and my wings wrap around him as well, keeping him safe. I don’t need a map to know we’re in the Lakes. Where we’d said we’d run away to.

“Baz,” I say softly, “are you okay?”

He nods, a hand reaching out to touch my cheek. “And you?”

“Not exactly up to dick, but I’ll be okay.”

“You have wings.”

“I have wings,” I repeat.

Baz looks at them, mesmerized. I curl them away from him and stretch them out.

“Can you get rid of them?” he asks.

I think about pulling my wings back, making them go away. Nothing happens.

“I don’t think so.”

“Is your magic gone?” Baz’s voice is very small, almost as if he’s afraid to say it.

I realize I can’t feel it anymore. The constant thrum beneath my skin is gone.

He realizes what my non-answer means and pulls me into his chest.

“What are we going to do?” I whisper.

“Carry on, I suppose,” Baz says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I take his hand and lead him to the shore. We sit down right by the water. My suit’s already ruined from my wings (and tail? Apparently I gave myself a tail).

“I made a bit of a mess,” I say, gesturing to my tattered clothes.

“It’s a shame,” he says, reaching out to hold the fabric, “you look stunning in a grey suit.”

We sit close together, looking out over the clear blue water. Baz kisses my cheek, then nestles into my shoulder.

As the sun sets over the water, bringing a chill to the air, I feel a strange sense of calm. I haven’t felt this way since I was a kid. No worries about my magic overtaking me, no worries about the Humdrum or the wedding. Just this, Baz and me sitting on the shore.

I squeeze Baz’s hand, my thumb turning calming circles in his palm.

“We’re going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> church-bells - talkative women  
> bricky - brave or fearless  
> don't sell me a dog - don't lie to me  
> not up to dick - not well
> 
> epilogue coming soon :


	5. Not Without My Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: One year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end of the road folks! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed. I can't believe I finished this in time for the start of my semester!
> 
> A massive thank you to [Ampithoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe) for being my beta. Your help was invaluable, and I really appreciate the time you took making sure my chapters were the best they could be!
> 
> Don't forget that you can [listen along!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rKgxX8RUUgIBlz7wg7CfX?si=ToYpYa0yR8Cm9UIkzMvXrw) Check out my [tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/tagged/blaze-in-the-dark) for the track list as it's posted.
> 
> Thank you again for reading <3

**ONE YEAR LATER**

I wake up to the sun shining over my eyes. I slowly look to my left and find Baz still slumbering softly beside me. (Typical.) I take a few moments to just enjoy it all; the warm rays of sun, the softness of our sheets, and Baz sleeping, one arm slung above his head, lips slightly parted.

Getting out of bed slowly, I spread my wings wide. I nearly knock over a mug resting on my bedside table, but my wingtip just misses it. It’d be a shame to wake Baz. (Even though I’m the one with the dragon bits, waking him is like waking a sleeping dragon.)

I pull on a shirt (wing holes cut by Baz himself), and mess with my hair in the mirror.

It’s nearly been a year now since my almost wedding. Soon after Baz and I chased after the Humdrum, Lady Salisbury had the Mage trapped in a corner. She kept him there until his own Men came to retrieve him.

Apparently the Mage really was my father. Baz and I talk about it sometimes, trying to make sense of it. In the end, I’m not sad to see him go. His only claim to fatherhood was his role in creating me. He left me in orphanages for my supposed _safety_ , thinking nothing of what I actually needed. He never showed me love or care. I have a family—Penny and Baz. I suppose Lady Salisbury is my grandmother, but I have all I need here, with the people that love me.

So now, a year later, it doesn’t really upset me that he’s behind bars. The Coven apparently put him through a gruelling trial, which ended in the snapping of his wand. We didn’t hear much about that.

We live like recluses, out here in the Lakes District among the poets. I love our little cottage, with its warm hearth and beautiful flower garden. We’re basically right in the wilderness, so Baz has plenty of animals to drink (I say it would be easier if he just drank _me_ , but Baz won’t have any of that). It’s a simple life. A nice life. A life I never thought I’d get to have.

Once I’m largely ready for the day, I slip my ring onto my third finger. I look over at Baz, still asleep. I’m so fond of him it makes my heart hurt. A few weeks ago, Penny performed some magickal marriage rites on us, so we are _technically_ married. I’m still trying to process that Baz is my _husband_.

The magic is slowly coming back to all the dead spots, and according to Penny, I’m going to be filled like all the other dead spots. I have barely an ounce of magic now, but I can feel it if I try. As soon as we were sure it was there, Penny used that magic to bind us together.

Her visits are how we get our news about the World of Mages. Baz left that world, for all intents and purposes, because of all the things he’d have to hide about himself. He still visits his family and uses magic around the house, but he doesn’t have a magickal job. Our neighbor, Ebb, pays me to help take care of her goats during the day, but Baz mostly tends to our garden.

I think he misses _doing_ magic, though. I can tell by the longing look he gets when Penny comes ‘round. She tells stories about helping her mother in her duties on the Coven, and Baz looks so sad he could burst. He insists it’s all worth it, but I know he wants more.

Penny promised to bring news of any magickal jobs that she finds that Baz could do in our area. I think it won’t be difficult to persuade him to take one when the time comes. For now, I like to think he’s content enough here, with me. I know I am.

It’s just been such a dream living here. The first few months were spent trying to learn how to cook food, since Baz had a live-in cook and I never had a reason to learn how. We laughed and ate burnt meal after burnt meal.

Since then, we’ve taken walks along the shores of the lake nearest us and sat together in front of our fire. I make dinner while Baz reads. He weeds the garden while I lie in the grass, staring at the clouds.

Agatha was right, really. We deserve to ride the horse, holding the reins of our own life. I’m pretty happy with the direction I chose.

I walk over to the bed and bend down to kiss Baz on the forehead. His eyes flutter open, and I run a hand through his hair.

“Morning, darling. I’m going flying,” I say gently.

He nods slightly before rolling over and going back to sleep. For as formidable a foe as he can be, Baz Pitch is easily quelled by sleep.

I head out the door, taking off almost immediately. I shoot into the air, opening my wings as far as they’ll go. No one out here seems to notice a strange flying object, and if they do, they keep quiet about it. (Baz may have spelled them all silent, but it’s all the same to me.)

It never gets old, flying over the lakes. The crystalline water, the clear sky, what more could I want? It’s such a rush to be up here with the wind on my cheeks. If I had to lose most of my magic, I’m happy I got to keep the wings. Sure, they’re a nuisance around the cottage, but I wouldn’t trade _this_ for the world.

I hang low in the sky for a moment, taking in the sight of our little cottage. Even from here I can make out its brown stones and the ivy that covers its walls. How precious, really, that the most important things in my life can fit within that small space.

The wind begs me to move, so I soar up and up until I reach my favorite spot. Settling in on the summit, I take in the view from the mountain. The air up here is so fresh and clear. There’s a breeze, and I can just about feel spring breaking loose all around me. Flower buds just starting to burst, birds beginning to chirp. The world starting anew.

By now, Baz will be making coffee and readying breakfast for me. It’s a lovely thought, that I have that to return to.

Taking a deep breath, I set off in the direction of home.


End file.
